


The Golden Chain

by neichan



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst. Desperation. Madness. Loss. Hope. Love., F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 62,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave Anthony DiNozzo saved his Family's honor with the price of his sale. He thought he'd found the one person he'd love always. But things are starting to look rather bleak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Slave Universe fic, based in a modern day Rome, as if Rome never fell and kept its reign over much of the world. I won't kill off Gibbs or DiNozzo, I promise. 
> 
> The main relationship is DiNozzo/Gibbs. But the other relationships are important to the story. There is infidelity. Angst. And a happy ending. 
> 
> I am not gifted when it comes to tags, and my memory sucks. Suffice to say I haven't written much fanfic that isn't full of triggers. Writing now is very difficult for me, so I am going through the older fic and trying to post them, maybe tweak them a bit. 
> 
> If you have a lot of triggers, or are in anyway sensitive, please do not read my fic. Take care of yourselves.

Chapter 1: one

 

Main Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo  
Warnings: Slave fic. Slash. Het. Angst.  
Summary: A fic I wrote when I couldn't get to my WIPs and was going through creative meltdown.   
A/N: Not a part of Nancy's incredible Romanology body of work! If you like well crafted, wonderfully written, believable slave fic, you must read her work, I'm a great fan of her writing. She has set the bar very high indeed. She is also known as TenthMuse, check her stuff out.   
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me.

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Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a man in trouble. Though most of the Citizen Residents would roll their eyes at what he was calling trouble. And members of the First Families would dismiss it with a wave of a hand. Nothing that couldn't be borne.

He was engaged to be married, for the fourth time, and his mind was not on the things it should be on. He was not thinking about the case his team was supposed to solve, a young female Marine, a Citizen-Resident from a good family, stabbed to death on a woodland obstacle course. With more than a thousand spectators and participants. Yet, no witnesses, at least none that were willing to come forward, had seen her or her killer.

The whole team, her competitive team, closed down and locked lips tighter than a submarine's hatch. Not even fear of the Empire had coerced any statement beyond "I don't know, Centurion. I didn't see, Centurion. I am sorry, Centurion."

Now this. His attention, despite his iron will, was fixed on the grim face of the usually exuberant, energetic Anthony DiNozzo. Three hours ago that face had fallen slack with shock as Jen, never one to postpone things, called everyone to the foot of the red carpeted stairs and made her announcement. 

Gibbs had nearly groaned aloud. They had not talked about going public. He was not ready for that.

He remembered, in a flash, the look of utter shock that had passed through the other man's eyes before he dropped his gaze to fix on the ground when the engagement was announced. Not by Gibbs, who had wished, five seconds after the director made her little speech, her beaming mother already at her side, her face shining with happiness, that he could retract it.

What was he thinking, getting engaged? What on Earth had possessed him to ask her to get married? OK, well that wasn't a fair question. It was partially a business decision, a Family one, too. Jen's Family was a good one, an offshoot of the powerful DeGranados; so was Gibbs', a good family as well, more closely aligned to a branch of the Hecatates. It made good sense to form an alliance between the two unconnected Families, each Family becoming stronger, benefiting financially and socially. 

The sex was good. It always had been with him and the women he'd married in the past. Two of them had died young, one had asked for a divorce after discovering he was already married to his work. Her family affiliations were just good enough to get the grant of divorce, not good enough for her to recover from the personal stigma of being divorced from him. She hated him now, with all the passion that hadn't filled their marriage.

While it was good sex, it hadn't been bliss. He had never managed to find a marriage partner who became a best friend. But he was getting older. Men in their forties, shortly going on fifties, shouldn't expect fireworks all the time. Good sex was nothing to turn his nose up at. And maybe Jen would turn out to be the one woman he could be friends with. 

Gibbs snorted quietly, flipping through the report Agent McGee had produced. He noted the Citizen Agent's panicked look at the snort, it sent the man back to his computer typing away madly to see what had been in the report to get that reaction from his boss. Gibbs managed not to smile. His mood had nothing to do with the state of the impeccably typed and researched report. But it never hurt to let McGee worry a little.

Still, seeing the look on Tony's face...it was devastating to see the look of utter bewilderment flood over those handsome features. Surely Tony knew that Gibbs would be retaining him. Gibbs found his life had never gone as smoothly before he'd put down a portion of his life's savings and purchased the eldest son of the impoverished and desperate local DiNozzo family. That too had been a business decision. He and Tony had signed a slave contract, and the Gibbs Family, Jethro was its heir apparent, paid off a sizable part of the DiNozzos' debts. 

Tony had proven he was a worthy student, graduating at the top of his class, and following Gibbs when he chose to leave military service, into NCIS. Gibbs retired from active duty at forty two with the permanent rank of First Centurion. Gibbs' rank along with his Family name opened more than enough doors to make his job possible. Not many of the people he questioned could afford to turn him and his questions away.

Tony was an excellent field agent, had been for three years, he also helped to run Gibbs' household with equal, cheerful efficiency. Gibbs had no complaints. Tony was a fixture in his life, even when the slave had been first admitted into Gibbs household, they'd talked, been close right away. 

Not that he could blame the younger man for having his own doubts. Tony had seen the last of Gibbs' marriages fail spectacularly, if illness had not taken his first and second wives he'd have been a thrice divorced man. Tony knew it. He worked hard to be necessary to Gibbs. So he wouldn't be turned away, or sold to recoup the enormous cost of his contract. 

Tony feared being sold. Jethro had found that out almost at once. But it wasn't legal to put a no-sale clause into a slave contract. That law had been passed a quarter century ago, when several Families joined forces and fought in the courts claiming it unfairly restricted economic exchange not to be able to trade in slaves like any other commodity. 

The Court, dazzled by high priced orators and the best lawyers money could procure, agreed with them. So Gibbs retained the right to sell Tony at any time. And that caused the younger man endless hours of worry.

Gibbs had spent more than a few hours talking late into the night with his slave. Tony knew how Gibbs felt about marriage. They were friends as much as two people in their relative positions could be. And he hadn't said anything to Tony about Jen. Nothing at all about the director and the time Gibbs was spending with her. A significant part of that time was in her bed. Tony probably felt his life was about to be upended. It already had been seeing as Jen had made her announcement.

Gibbs rubbed a weary hand over his brow. What a mess. He didn't know how he was going to get himself out of it. But he did know he had to. Letting this marriage go through, that would be the fourth biggest mistake of his life. 

And it didn't help him deal with a far more pressing problem. The problem of how he was going to deal with his awakening feelings for another man. His slave. The reason he'd started dating Jen in the first place. To get his mind off his unwelcome attraction, his first serious desire for a man at all. His comment about marriage, fueled with alcohol, which turned into a proposal…well. It was a problem.

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The day passed in a haze. Tony tried to focus, but his mind kept returning to the ecstatic smile Jen Sheppard wore as she told the entire work force of NCIS about her engagement to Gibbs. Quite a coup for her and her Family. The congratulations that followed had left him cold. He withdrew from the crowd around her, making his way back to his desk, hoping to bury himself in his work. Hoping to forget. To stop wondering what it meant for him.

He moved through the day like an automaton, failing miserably to keep his mind off the impending marriage. And the fact Gibbs hadn't spoken to him about his plans. That hurt. As a slave Tony knew he couldn't demand Gibbs confide in him. It still hurt. He'd thought they were friends as well as master and slave. Apart from Gibbs himself, he was almost always the first to know what was on his master's mind.

Tony made no bones about it when he thought about Gibbs privately. He'd just as soon Gibbs never marry again. They had a comfortable life, a country estate, an apartment in the city. Gibbs had female friends for his casual sexual needs. Everything else Tony took care of. And if he was truthful, he'd be more than willing to take care of all of Gibbs' needs, sexual or otherwise. If Gibbs only showed any inclination towards a male lover. Just recently Tony thought he had been given a little hope in that direction. Now that hope was ashes in his mouth.

Gibbs was going to get married.

Tony got up and managed to get into the restroom without stumbling. He ignored the urinals and went into one of the cubicles, unzipping and sitting down after shutting the door.

Blindly he looked down at himself, at the fine, gold ring piercing the head of his cock, the delicate but strong chain running from that, backwards, down where he couldn't see it in the position he was sitting, threaded through the rings that were set in the skin of his scrotum, all the way back to the deeper ring, the guiche piercing behind his balls in his perineum. The ring that the other end of the chain was fastened to.

Tony had thought Gibbs was going to take him into his bed when, last month, he'd escorted his slave to the jewelers. Gibbs had him pierced, chained. With beautiful golden rings and an equally exquisite, glittering chain. 

It meant Gibbs didn't want him having sex with anyone else. The chain prevented it. Tony couldn't penetrate anyone, not with his cock tied down like it was. But. Gibbs hadn't taken him to his bed. Hadn't said anything about it, once he'd examined it, touched him, his calloused palm cradling Tony's genitals, but no more than that. Tony knew that kind of adornment wasn't uncommon. But he'd wanted it to mean something. Something it obviously did not mean.

Now he was pretty sure he knew what it did mean. Gibbs was going to keep him. But he was also going to have a new and attractive wife in the household. He didn't want DiNozzo to be capable of sex with her around. Piercing was better than gelding.

Tony hung his head. He would never touch Director Sheppard. Not even if she pursued him. For one, all of Tony's interest had been directed at a single person for the last three years. One person who he spent every day with. Who's room he slept in. Who he came to work with, striving to earn the man's praise and approval, even if it manifested in only a nod. The center of his universe. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. 

Tony finished and zipped up. Despite all his feelings it was clear enough Gibbs didn't feel the same. The piercing and chaining didn't mean to Gibbs what it meant to Tony.

Washing his hands, Tony knew that no matter how Gibbs felt, it didn't change anything for him. Tony loved the silver haired man. His Master. His Owner. If it was what Gibbs wanted, Tony wouldn't have sex. 

Gibbs hadn't said anything like that. But why else would he have done this? Tony dried his hands. It wasn't his place to question it. Gibbs wanted it done. Tony accepted it.

He only wished that Gibbs had wanted him in his bed. He exited the restroom.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs was not going to just sit back and surrender to the inevitable. He wouldn't be the kind of man Jen Sheppard wanted if he did. She knew he was having second thoughts about the marriage, she had eyes after all, and she'd been an agent. She knew. He had been reserved since he'd asked and she had accepted. Then she had made it worse by trying to make it big news, intending that they would be swept up in the joy of it all. She could have hit herself for that foolishness. That stupid indulgence. She'd been wrong. 

Announcing the engagement had not been the best decision of her life. But she had not been able to hold back. She was nearly bursting with the need to share. She was going to be marrying into the Gibbs Family. She liked and perhaps even loved Jethro. He was pleasant company, attentive to her needs in bed. He was familiar, and they had been partners, years ago, very close. And Gibbs was a gentleman. 

She could deal with his dedication to his job. It earned him honors and respect from other Families. A First Centurion was not an easy man to discount. It would be a pleasure and an honor to have him escort her around town. To see the admiration and envy in other women's eyes.

She had been afraid that if it were kept secret, if she didn't make it known, he might back out of the agreement, rethink the commitment. She was fearful, and her mother had said if she wanted to make sure of the man, she should make it public, announce it, publish the bans in the papers. His Family wouldn't let him back out once the offer was common knowledge. It would give Jen the upper hand.

But Jen had felt the ice growing between them after her ill advised semi-public announcement. She had managed to keep the bans from being published after she saw his face at the office. He had not come to her, he had not touched her, taken her in his arms and accepted congratulations with her. That was when she understood her mistake. Truly understood.

He had not withdrawn his offer, but she had to speak with him soon or she thought he might. She had to convince him the announcement was not intended to embarrass or to trap him. She dropped her head in her hands, careful not to smear her carefully applied make up. 

She struggled to regain her composure. She was no longer young. She was too old to be married for her fertility, to carry children. She was well past her youthful flush of perfect skin and starry eyes. Her best hope of marriage was this one to an older heir, one who already had children by earlier wives and who wanted a life companion rather than a mother to his children. A woman of good family to run his household to share his days and nights.

Jen Sheppard might be a member of a good Family, but joining with the Gibbs' was a rare and valuable chance. A once in a lifetime chance. She couldn't afford to blow it. The whole of her family was counting on her to take this chance and to elevate them, their Name, into the Elite Families.

There was also the problem of Gibbs personal slave. One Anthony DiNozzo. His Family name was still good, and with most of their debts paid off they were regaining their former position. All from the sale of one of their many sons. Gibbs must have wanted the young man, must have wanted him badly to pay such a vast sum. 

The slave slept in his master's rooms. Had done so since shortly after the purchase, her sources, bribed at considerable cost, informed her. 

Tony often was seen around town with Jethro at Gibbs or Hecatate Family functions. Impeccably groomed, handsome, polite and treated much like a member of the Family himself, seated at Jethro's left hand. That could only happen if it was Gibbs himself who desired Tony be treated like that. Taking the traditional place of a wife.

When she had heard that...it was like a knife to her heart. Would Gibbs give her her place when they married, if they married...or would she be forced to take a lesser place? She knew she was being paranoid, letting doubt overwhelm her, but she was not able to help herself. 

Tony sat in the place of a wife for years now. His Family was nearly the equal to hers, was growing stronger each year. None of the Hecatate or Gibbs Family spoke out in public against the place he had beside Jethro. Why should Jethro displace him for a new wife?

The reality was Tony was her most serious rival. But she could not make any move against him without knowing more. Without knowing if Tony slept in his master's bed. And what Tony meant in truth to Jethro. She had to know the consequences that would follow if she removed him from the place that rightly belonged to her now. 

Jen Sheppard would have to move cautiously. Carefully. She had made one mistake, she couldn't afford another. If she moved against Tony she would have to be careful, she would have to be fully in the right. Anything else would be suicide.

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Gibbs watched Jen as she spoke to the collection of men and women who held administrative positions under her. He saw the dark sweep of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the line of her hip, so full and feminine it caused his belly to go tight. 

She was graceful and attractive. He liked her. But he feared he couldn't trust her. Not after what she had done. His own mother did not like her. He wondered at himself. Had he been so blinded by lust that he had proposed? Was that the first and foremost reason he had? That his dick had made him do it? He shook his head angrily, clenching his jaw.

He'd caught her looking at Tony some time ago. Her expression puzzled at first then measuring, maybe even interested. He'd taken Tony in the next day to have him chained. At first he'd told himself it was to keep Tony from being able to have sex with his future wife. But the anger he felt hadn't eased, it had grown every time he saw Jen looking, Jen or any other woman looking at Tony. 

Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't a man who allowed pride to decieve him. He knew that it was Tony who was the cause of his unease, not Jen. He'd chained Tony because the idea of the young man being in bed with a woman, any woman, made him see red. 

There was no such thing as unplanned children in the slaves quarters. No slave fathered a child unless it was planned. Slaves were encouraged to have relations with members of the same sex as one method of birth control. Or they were gelded, or chained. Gibbs couldn't bear the idea of gelding his slave. So he'd chained him. Tony would not be in a woman's bed, nor a man's.

Tony was handsome, young and strong, well built. Gibbs knew it, was proud of his slave, aware that gazes followed Tony with lustful intent. It took a while but he did eventually realize why he was possessive of the young man who ran his household, worked with him and also slept across the end of his bed every night. Gibbs was not ready to give him up. Not his body, nor his heart. Both belonged to Gibbs. 

It wasn't really necessary to keep Tony so near, in fact it was very old fashioned to keep Tony with him in his rooms, but Gibbs liked it that way, modernist values tended not to appeal to him. And he wasn't going to stop that practice if he married. His wife would have her own suite of rooms and Gibbs would visit her there. She was not going to be sharing his comfortable bachelor rooms. Those rooms were for himself and Tony. 

Gibbs stood up. He had to talk to Jen soon. He had to decide if he was going through with the marriage in light of the way she had tried to take control of him, of his proposal. She would understand and agree to his terms or scandal or not, he would take back his offer.

His mother had not been happy with Jen's actions. She had asked him if he was willing to live under his new wife's thumb, the disapproval strong on her creased and lined face. The face of the matriarch of his family. Her face made her own opinion clear.

Gibbs hadn't liked it much when it was put like that. No, he would not be ruled by his wife. He looked up, and saw Jen, not looking at him, but staring at Tony again, her eyes sharp, intense.

"DiNozzo!" He barked at the young man who looked up at him, startled at the sharpness of his voice. "With me, now." No one blinked at the tone of the order. Tony was Gibbs' slave. They would not interfere with how the First Centurion wanted to handle his property.

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Tony drove while Gibbs fumed in the passenger seat. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over. Jen staring at Tony. Staring at his slave. Jen...wanting Tony.

"Home." Was the one word Gibbs had barked at Tony when they entered the garage. 

Tony had climbed into the driver's seat recognizing his owner's mood. Gibbs wanted to think, not drive, thank the Gods. Tony let him think, steering the car smoothly through the evening traffic.

When they pulled into the wide drive of the household, Tony parked and followed his master into the private suite. He took less than three strides into the rooms when he was gripped by the front of his shirt, buttons flying as he was pulled across the intervening floor and thrown down on the mattress. 

Gibbs held him down and tore open his pants, ripped them down to his knees. Tony grunted in surprise, fighting the urge to put up his own hands and protect himself. This was his master, he had no legal right to protect himself from what ever this man wanted to do to him. Gibbs had never touched him like this before. It was frightening. 

He felt the tug on his chain, and he held his breath. If Gibbs wanted to he could hurt him, pulling the rings out, ripping his flesh, mutilating him. Tony didn't dare move. He almost couldn't draw air into his lungs as he lay legs forced apart as far as the constriction of his pants around his knees allowed. Gibbs' leg was thrown over his holding him down, face contorted with some strong emotion as he leaned over and down. Tony held his breath.

But Gibbs seemed content when he felt the chain, the rings intact. His face eased, the tension, the snarl disappearing. It was almost as if he was reassuring himself they were still in place. Tony let out a barely audible groan, the feel of warm, strong male fingers on him. Gibbs touch wasn't scary any more. It was the kind of touch Tony had always wanted, hoped for, wished for. He didn't let himself think beyond the here and now.

Gibbs left his hand where it was, holding Tony cupped in his palm, absently running the chain through his fingers. He dropped his head down resting it on Tony's broad shoulder, the fine silver of his hair brushing Tony's cheek. Tony turned his head, until his nose was in the short hair, until he was breathing in the heady scent of his master. They lay there, not speaking, hearts thudding, both wondering what was happening. Neither able to ask the question of the other.

Tony was the first to make a sound, a quiet gust of sound, a moan he fought to hold back, but failed to control. He lay utterly still after the sound waiting for his master's reaction. Hoping this wonderful contact would continue, hoping Gibbs wouldn't pull away. Wouldn't punish him.

Instead Gibbs pushed his arm under the bigger body, held him tight. And Tony closed his eyes. He was more than willing to lay here, compliant, Gibbs hugging him and holding his delicate flesh, his balls in the palm of his hand. Thumb stroking him in an insanely pleasurable way Tony didn't dare respond to. Only accept.

If Gibbs wanted more he would take it. Tony would give it all. Willingly.

If only Gibbs wanted it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember writing this in response to a challenge by Matt51. We were dueling to see who could write the most angst, I think. Anyway, this was my little journey of angst. It seems a bit simple now when I reread it, but I hope some of you will enjoy it.

Evangeline Gibbs, matriarch of the Gibbs family sat in her wide-backed wicker chair watching her eldest son and his personal slave play one on one basketball. Two virile young males, shirtless, bodies gleaming wonderfully with sweat. Muscles rolled under each man's skin. Tony's paler, more golden, smoothly, strongly built; Gibbs, a darker brown, showing the benefits of a lifetime of exertion, hard physical training and labor in his deeply cut, more intimidating, leaner physique.

Personal slave, she snorted delicately. It should have been Slave Consort by now. If Gibbs would show sense and take the young man as his Consort, then such temptations, such inconvenient and unnecessarily complicated temptations such as Jenny Sheppard would not arise to gum up the works. Gibbs had his heir, a lovely six year old child with his father's intense blue eyes and his mother's luxuriant black hair. Gabriel Hadrian Gibbs was being schooled at the best Family supported institution just up the Hecatate River. His doting grandmother wanted no competition from any late child that might spring from Sheppard's loins. 

Irritably she lifted her mint tea to her lips. Sipped. Her mood eliminating a moderate fraction of the pleasure she usually took in the fine work of Jethro's devoted cook. The tea was perfect, as were the fruit scones that sat barely touched on the table at her elbow a small crock of honeyed butter beside them.

It wasn't that she disapproved so much of the girl's Family. They were a good Family, loyal, well financed, admirably determined, and she was well acquainted with the patriarch. She did avoid the matriarch, who was a distant, nervous woman in most instances. With a tendency to quiver. But eager, perhaps a bit too eager for alliance with an even stronger Family. 

Evangeline also knew her son. Jethro had a dreadful habit of choosing incompatible females to marry. Or ones who were solely compatible with him in bed. Not at all ideal companions for the rest of his life. Sex, in the end, was not sufficiently large a part of life to have it as the one point of agreement in any relationship that became permanent. She had been horrified at the first two women her son had married, and not at all happy with the third, a spoiled and difficult woman, who had somehow expected Jethro would give up his work to spend a life of leisure at her side. No, Jethro had not chosen well.

Until Tony. The boy was an admirable choice, it had relieved her mind to no end when Jethro had the common sense to select him. She had been so pleased she had not made the tiniest squeak of objection to the enormous price his desperate Family had set for his slave price. She had opened the Gibbs Family coffers and doled the funds out without a single word of protest. And she had sat back expecting Jethro's life to finally be settled. His future solid and content.

Then her son, whom she dearly loved, hadn't had the good sense to realize that Tony was the best choice as his mate, as his Slave Consort. He'd kept up the ill advised habit of dating women who had little compunction in making it clear they would do just about anything to join the Family. Her Family. Evangeline Gibbs did not approve.

It was a blessing her son was so responsible and caring. More than one of the grasping females he courted had hoped to get pregnant and once carrying Jethro's child, to worm their way into a marriage. But Jethro was diligent in protecting himself and the Family. She thanked all the Ghods for that. It was an enormous relief to know that Jen herself was not pregnant.

If only her son could have opened his eyes to the potential mate he had in his slave. Preferably before this fiasco with Jenny had gotten so serious and entangled. She snorted again, elegantly of course and lifted a sweet, lightly buttered scone to her pursed mouth. Silly man. She wondered what it would take to make him see the light. 

She could see it herself, in every movement of that lovely body the slave had. He strained and stretched, glowing with health and animal beauty in the midst of their exertions. Tony giving her son a hard fight for each point. The two of them bumping and rubbing with obvious enjoyment. How far was it from there to a Consort's bed? To a much more suitable choice of mate than the woman currently waiting in the wings?

It wasn't that she would go so far as to publicly disapprove the marriage to Jenny, it was Jethro's choice when it came down to it and the girl did have some good points, but she could already see the trouble ahead. They were both far too headstrong. The attraction, the sexual magnetism, would wane. As it had each of the other times. Four marriages to women...she sighed. Three was more than enough.

She was very close to positive that her son was on the brink of discovering how he felt, really felt about his slave. Much to her pleasure Tony had been showing up regularly in Jethro's company at formal occasions, looking delicious in formal dress, masculine and exquisite. Taking the traditional place a mate should occupy. The place a wife or a Consort took. Fitting it perfectly. Most of the Families assumed that the two were mated and few matriarchs set their daughters or nieces after her son any more. The rapport between the two men was so plain, the effort was assumed to be wasted.

The sunshade granted her an oasis of coolness in the well tended garden. Her son's household, green and lush. Well tended and maintained, supervised by Tony DiNozzo. She was inordinately pleased with his organizational skills. And there was no arguing how handsome, intelligent, cheerful and sensual he was. All qualities Jethro needed in his mate.

When the tidbit of information that Jethro had had the boy chained reached her ears, Evangeline had been quite satisfied that an announcement of their pairing was imminent. Instead she'd heard about a proposal to Jen Sheppard. And she was not happy about that. 

Nor was she happy to notice the heartache in the young slave's eyes. Shame on Jethro for being so blind! The poor DiNozzo boy was waiting so patiently. It was enough to put a mother off her temper to watch it.

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Gibbs threw a towel at Tony when they mutually decided they had had enough of the foolishness of playing an all out game of one on one in the blazing hot midday sun.

Together they laughed, meandering over to the huge umbrella that protected his mother from the same hot rays. She called out to Tony and he trotted over faster, dropping to his knees next to her chair, grinning up at her. 

Gibbs was a little startled to see her take the towel from Tony and begin to dry him off. He put down the bottled water he was drinking and started to head over to them, then changed his mind for a moment, snagging a cool bottle for Tony, then approaching.

Tony knelt docilely, chatting with Gibbs' mother. The two of them had always gotten along well. A great relief, as Evangeline Gibbs had been reserved if polite with his wives. Of course that could have had something to do with the blatant hostility and jealousy the women had shown toward her familiarity with her son's household and her fondness for him. Once married to him all three had pressured him to distance himself from her, to limit her 'interference', and to take over more of the day to day running of the Family.

Gibbs, however had no desire to give up his work at NCIS and become a manager until it was absolutely necessary. His mother was the best administrator of the Gibbs Family that was possible to find, probably far better than Gibbs himself would ever be. And she enjoyed the work. At 65, it kept her young and energetic. He would just as soon she keep at it until she asked him for help. As it was she and her favored slaves made the Family into a powerful entity, financially solvent and bedrock stable.

Tony giggled and beamed at something his mother had said. Gibbs sat in the chair next to hers and watched his two favorite people in the world chat, a small smile on his own lips. After a few minutes he took his towel from his shoulders and used it to dry Tony's hair. Earning a look of affectionate...approval?...from his mother that caught him entirely by surprise. What did that look mean?

Gibbs gazed at Tony, sitting cross-legged on the rug between the chair of his mother and his own. His eyes were drawn to the tiny curls of hair at the nape of Tony's neck, dark with sweet smelling sweat, the tendrils sticking still to the well cut cheek as his slave smiled, then laughed. 

He was beautiful. Sitting there in his shorts, flushed pink with heat and exercise. Happy, gulping down water as if it were ambrosia, trickles of it escaping to run down his throat and his chest, to rest, soaking into the waistband of his shorts. 

Gibbs knew what lay under those shorts. He'd had his hands on it all only yesterday. Fingering the golden adornments and the bulky genitals they accented. More than a handful when he'd cupped them. Hot and silken, they had felt good in his hand. He had liked how it felt to handle Tony. 

Yesterday, they had fallen asleep on the bed, Gibbs' hand on Tony's crotch, his head on the younger man's shoulder. Gibbs woke spooned behind Tony, his hand still holding penis and testicles loosely, thumb caught underneath one part of the fine chain. Gibbs liked that chain, found it comforting, reassuring. Feeling deep down that it somehow made Tony more personally his. Tony could not have penetrative sex, nothing beyond rubbing and fondling. He would not be entering anyone's body. Only Gibbs could release that chain...only Gibbs could....

His mind shied away from that too open admission, the powerful desire for a sexual possession and control of the younger man. Of course Tony was his. His slave, his friend. His co-worker. Abruptly he stood, stepping over and bending down to kiss his mother's fragrant cheek.

"We should get showered before lunch. We'll see you inside." His mother smiled at him and at Tony again. He felt her eyes and her satisfaction as they walked away, towards Gibbs' suite.

Gibbs wasn't sure what prompted it, but he slung an arm around Tony's slim waist and tugged him nearer, snug against his side as they walked.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony went directly to the shower as they entered the suite. Evangeline Gibbs was not a woman used to waiting. Tony despite his frustration and anguish over recent events had no intention of troubling the woman who was as close to a parent as he now had.  
He twirled the rectangular gold knobs, adjusting the heat of the water.

Slaves, while informally connected to their old Families, could not remain fully embraced by old ties and became the property of the Families who purchased them. Tony's Family name had not been stricken from his records, but the Gibbs' would have been entirely within their rights to do so. In addition they had no obligation to give him use of their name either, he might easily have been known as just Tony, a slave. But the papers Tony signed and noted for Gibbs when he helped with Family business gave his full name as Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs. 

The name made his chest swell every time he looked at it, every time he wrote it out in his once wild sprawl, now exact and lovingly transcribed each and every time. His handwriting had never been good. Until he came to belong to Gibbs. Now he wrote as neatly as he could, still not all that impressive a job, he thanked the gods for computers, printouts, but his signature..., that he'd practiced and practiced, retraining himself until it was an elegant swirl and incline, artistic, worthy of the Gibbs' name. A labor of love if he was honest.

Gibbs came up behind him now in the capacious bathroom, into the sandy toned shower stall, marbled on two sides and glassed in on one remaining, slightly darker toasted light brown tiles below, open on the last side, large enough for four grown men to use at one time. Gibbs walked into it tossing his shorts and sweat soaked towel aside. His cap of silvered hair darker as the water wet it.

Tony followed. They had showered together for years. It was nothing new. Gibbs had been military and had any sense of modesty amongst men drilled out of him while in his late teens. Tony pumped the gel out of its full dispenser, lathering up next to his master. 

Watching Gibbs wash...it was both a gift and a torture for him. Water cascaded down the wide back, touched here and there with pale scars from his time as an active duty Centurion. Bullet wounds, sword slashes, knife stabs. Healed, old wounds. That Tony wanted to trace with his finger tips, with his mouth. He ached to follow the path of the water running down the graceful body, over the trim waist, the tight, deep chest, the muscles you could only see how impressive they were like this, uncovered, unclothed. 

He wanted to fall to his knees, a thing Gibbs never forced him to, slave or not. Never demanded of him. Willingly, he wanted to go to his knees, his tongue tracking the line of the water, over the thick cap of one shoulder, down the tanned curve of his strong back, into the dip of his waist, hands braced on those hips, thumbs...oh the gods! His thumbs curling under those perfectly male globes, a combination of hard muscle and lightly downed softness, while his tongue would find the path, the way to the darker hidden secrets of Gibbs' body. Where he would taste him. His master. And then, Gibbs would turn, slowly, turn towards him...

"Tony." And he realized Jethro had been holding a handful of the cleansing gel out to him for several seconds without Tony's noticing. Shrugging as Tony finally refocused, Gibbs gave him no further chance to take it, or to space out.

"You should drink more water when we get out. It was hot, you may be dehydrated," Gibbs said as he set about washing his slave with the sudsing gel. Tony held back the cry that wanted to escaped him, the hands were business like, not erotic, matter of fact, not seductive. He moaned inside. Oh, gods, please. Please. As Gibbs turned him and worked on his back.

"I'd rather be early, not late. Mother wants to talk. I hope it won't be about Jen. But probably it will be." The wry twist of his lips brought the combined sensations of pain, and loss and a completely unsubstantiated hope to birth in Tony's heart. "What a cock up."

Gibbs held him under the spray, sluicing the water and foam off the younger man with the edge of his hand like a stirgil to scrape off oil from skin. Reaching up, stepping close, so near, Tony shook, fought it down to a fraction of a shiver as Gibbs was there, in front of him, hands lifted, shampooing Tony's hair, their bodies touching here and there as Gibbs worked and talked. 

Tony gone unmoving, utterly immobile, not daring to shift his balance, not daring for fear he would snap, would enfold that loved body in his arms and never let go. Something he could not do. Gibbs was the master. Gibbs didn't want that. It was so much to have him close like this. To have those calloused hands on him, running over him so easy and familiar, even if it was only washing. Even if it wasn't love. Nor desire. Even if it broke Tony's heart.

He felt it. Every stroke of those hands running possessively over his skin. The touch was possessive, Tony recognized the ownership that was in those hands. Gibbs was touching him in a different way than in the past. Tony let his arms hang down at his sides for a long, long moment. Then as Gibbs, his master, took longer than required to wash and rinse his slave's short, thick hair, Tony let his arms rise. He let them rise and settle gently, without assumption, resting them around his master's waist. The motion of which brought their hips together, bumping, the bulk of genitals one soft one almost firm, pressing, undeniable. Tony shuddered, again, almost giving in to the need to cry out. His breath shaking as he held it, then let it out with a rush.

Gibbs went still as stone. Hands buried in Tony's hair, washed free of every bit of soap long before, yet his fingers had given in to the urge to run over the well sculpted skull. His eyes met Tony's, the slave's aching with something too hidden, unadmitted, too hard to read for many reasons. 

Gibbs let his hands fall from Tony's hair. His arms came down, outside of Tony's because of the slave's hold on his waist, around him in a loose grip. They were pressed close, except their upper bodies, Gibbs was leaning back, feeling the strength, the power in the younger body against his. 

Gibbs, the First Centurion flashed on the many ways he could free himself from this hold. How he could disable the man holding him. The lift and turn of body and elbows that would break the smooth, proud column of the other man's neck. Take him down to the drenched, hot floor of the shower, take him down to his back, forcing him to cry his surrender if he still had the voice to do it. 

A First Centurion was a formidable foe with or without weapons. His body was enough. He had not been touched without his at least implied leave in a long, long time. This touch, though not precisely disliked, was just that fraction beyond what right he'd given his slave. Tony, who had his implied consent for...almost this. Almost. Yet not exactly this, this...holding him like this. Pressed together like this, over the line. Over the line. Gibbs couldn't move, if he moved he'd strike out, he would hurt, wound. If he moved....he drew in a gradual breath, lifted his eyes, let them focus not on the long, muscular arms reaching around him, but on the green blue eyes an inch or two higher than his own.

He saw it, Tony realizing it, seeing Gibbs' reaction, interpreting it. Knowing he'd gone too far. Yet frozen where he was, afraid. Gibbs' gaze pinning him, a snake and it's prey. Gibbs saw Tony understanding the motions the killing blows going through Gibbs' mind, held from reality, from execution only by iron will.

Gibbs didn't like Tony afraid. It made him angry, but Tony had done it to himself. Tony had decided to hold him, decided to do this. It had not been requested. Gibbs reached out, his slave's arms around him still and turned off the water, an action away from his slave, an action not intended to maim or punish or kill. 

The quiet, without the rush and spray was hard, harsher, deafening. Filled with the calm, even rhythm of Gibbs' breath and the asynchronous hitch of Tony's. At last, Tony's hands unlocked, fell from his master's body, dropped limp to his sides. His face bled of color underneath it tan, waxy.

Gibbs waited, standing, no reaction in his body, forcing down the return of the sudden, angry urge to strike out. This was Tony, he reminded himself. Tony. His slave, he corrected. His slave who had put his hands on him in a way he knew wouldn't be welcome. His slave who had dared...

Tony moaned. The trembling winning free of his tenuous control. Shaking him, disrupting his stability, his heart aching, aching. His knees gave way. Without touching or being touched, with nothing more than grief and sorrow compelling him, he sank to the tiles, cooling with the torrent of heated water gone. Sinking to hands and knees, head hanging lower, lower, until he curled into a tight ball, miserable, forehead on the tile, then cheek, pressed, arms hard around his own body, bare legs. He felt it when, silent, his master stepped around him, going past, out, away. Leaving him there on the floor of the shower, huddled.

Gibbs dried himself with short jerky movements. Efficient, numb. He forced himself to not think, not analyze, to go to the closet, fling it open, select the neat, summer weight casual clothes that would be right for a dinner in the heat with his mother as their guest. Crisp, cool, clean, light colors, reflecting the heat rather than gathering it. He dressed mechanically. Returned to the large bathroom, not looking at the huddle in the shower. 

Jethro combed his hair, shaved. Rinsed his face. Remembering that sometimes Tony did this for him. Shaved and washed his face, patted on the light, spicy cologne. Gibbs looked at the bottle, the amber liquid inside, the liquid that shook, like the hand holding the bottle. Carefully he splashed it on his face, over his throat. Checked his eyes in the mirror. His gaze wandered beyond his reflection as he stood there. To the shadow of bare skin, brown, smooth, of his slave, of Tony laying there, still in the small puddles on the tile, flash of gold there, between his drawn up thighs. 

Gibbs stepped away from the reflection. Turned, grim, sad. His sandaled feet a whisper over the floor, the tile as he stepped into the shower. Squatting. 

"Get up." He said, the abrupt brevity of the words slightly softened by the tone, the quiet delivery. "We won't keep mother waiting. Get dressed." He rose, Tony obeying, not hesitating, miserable, misery clear in every line of his body, his averted gaze. Gibbs found himself looking, seeing the golden chain, in its place, shining, bright, untarnished as gold always was. Pure and golden. He reached out as Tony stood, grabbed it, him, held it, the gold and the genitals in his palm, tugging on the chain, making the man gasp, Tony frozen into stillness again. 

Gibbs let go. Pushed him as little as he could and still get the message across. Go, now, hurry, get away from me.....he felt his anger rising as quickly as it had fallen, seconds to a peak, then falling, falling to a valley, to nothing, to numbness. Don't think. They had a meal to survive. Before Gibbs could afford to think about this.

Tony fled into the other room to dress, looking unaccountably smaller than he ever had. Clothes, the same make, the same quality, the same tailor as Gibbs'. A pale amber shirt, silk trousers, lightweight, handsome on him. Sandals. Gibbs had never realized how alike he and his slave dressed. Tony an echo of him. Yet...the chain at Tony's throat. The thick gold bracelet at his wrist. Gibbs never wore jewelry. He used it to mark what was his. Jen, a necklace of green emeralds, a bracelet of golden icons, winking and dangling. A winking ring to mark the proposal. 

And before Jen, Tony. The chains. Some at neck and wrist, some at his waist when they had once gone to a nudist beach and Gibbs had commented the young man looked too naked, a thousand dollars, draped around that narrow waist, grazing the dip of his navel.... Adornment that came and went at Gibb's whim. Except the ones that Tony would wear forever. The chains that Gibbs had no thought of removing...his hand clenched into a fist, remembering the smooth slide of that chain when he'd held Tony in his hand. Gibbs growled. Forced himself to face the man who was buttoning the last button of his shirt.

Then, Tony's hands shaking too badly to do it himself, Tony sat statue still, as a stone faced Gibbs shaved him, dried him, scented him with careful, controlled, terrifying touches. Combed his hair, the wet ends curling, begging for a master's fingers to tangle in the loops and whorls.... 

Unsmiling, Gibbs led him out of the suite and to a dinner Tony for the first time in forever dreaded.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love animals in fiction.

Evangeline Gibbs scratched behind the ears of her favorite Irish wolfhound. A huge beast, overflowing with protective affection, he was one of her favorite companions. An absolute bear when it came to strangers, Faramir adored Tony. He sat up now, hyper-alert, his intelligent eyes fixed on the two men entering the room with less than the enthusiasm Evangeline thought her company deserved. Faramir let out a low, deep whine and exchanged an anxious look with his mistress. She patted him gently, letting him know she was worried, too.

Evangeline didn't need her dog to let her know something was very wrong. She knew something was terribly wrong when her son came in the room looking like his old, stiff, First Centurion robotic self, eyes flat, blue less expresive than chips of slate. The rigid, military man she hadn't seen so much of lately. Then, as he bent down to kiss her cheek, she got a look at Tony over his shoulder. Her eyes widened in horror and she had to fight to recover her poise as Jethro pulled back.

Tony's face was like chalk, a pure terror filling his eyes, or what room was left after the despair. Between the time that the two had left the patio and basketball court and now, something awful had occurred. Something serious. Wounding. It had hurt Tony far more than it had hurt her son, whatever it was. Tony had the same haunted look in his eyes he got when he feared he was going to be sold at every turn or bump in the road in those first years. It hurt her heart to see it.

That Tony feared he was going to be sold was a clue. Evangeline held back her habitual snort at how unlikely that was. The great dog beside her had no such compunction, letting out a concerned rumble. Over her own empty purse would her son sell the boy outside of the Family, not that she believed he would try to do anything so reckless, so foolish. Tony was absolutely essential to Jethro's life and well-being. Her son didn't always act like he knew that, but deep down, she was sure he did.

She patted the hound's solid side. Nodding to him as he looked beseechingly up at her. With of the nod of permission, the animal took off like a shot, flying around the table in ground eating strides to perch next to Tony's chair.

There was only one thing her son could mess up this thoroughly. Well, two things. Love and sex. (Arguably you could add marriage to that list). It had to do with one of those things, or worse yet, all three. She'd bet her favorite sun hat on it. Hades, she would bet her Rolls on it! No one could mess love and sex up like Jethro. She pursed her lips as she sipped another glass of tea, lemon this time, well iced, lightly tart and refreshing, with plenty of caffeine.

By Zeus' beard it was the last straw! She was just about at her wits end with these men. First having to contemplate the possibility of Jen Sheppard living here, as her son's wife...and the fact her thick-headed, pussy blinded son couldn't see the much better alternative right in front of him. She ached to go over to Jethro and give him a well deserved smack on the back of the head. It had sometimes been the only way to get anything through to the stubborn man.

In that instant, Evangeline had had it. Non-interference be damned. She waited while Tony and Jethro were served before she spoke, taking the time to organize her plan. OK, if her son wouldn't admit he needed Tony, if he insisted on remaining blind to he fact, Evangeline would provide him with a little time and space to think about it. It was time to give Jethro a taste of what living with Jen Sheppard and without Tony would be like.

"Jethro," she said as she sliced into the citrus-peppery chicken, appreciating the fine, tart aroma rising from the chilled white meat. She dipped it in the lime sauce, chewed while her son turned toward her, his plate filled, his fork in his hand, unused. His face was stiff, glacial, attempting to form a polite mask and failing. Though there was no reason to let him know how bad on actor he was. She smiled genially.

"Yes?" His voice was gruff, rusty, as if forced out of a tight throat. He looked angry to have been distracted from what ever problem his mind was wrestling with.

"I simply must have a favor. I discovered that I have taken on far too much in the next month and I need some temporary help." She sliced briskly into the poached citrus and peach compote that accompanied the chicken dish. Jethro was regarding her with a look of feigned interest, by the gods...he'd better not try that look in public. He looked ill, his eyes dull, hard.

Tony was staring at his heaped plate, staring, not eating, murmuring a thanks to Mariah, Jethro's housekeeper as she laid it in front of him. Sensing the undercurrent of trouble the woman merely murmured and withdrew, not making her usual friendly banter with the other slave.

Faramir was at Tony's side, massive head laying on Tony's thigh, dark eyes peering up at him, filled with agonized worry. He whined quietly. Absently Tony's hand reached out, brushed the thick, summer-trimmed white fur. Held a handful of it, as if it might offer some small security. A shield. He looked as if he would weep. It was obvious eating was the last thing he was going to be able to do.

The poor dear boy, with all the running around with her son, the management of Jethro's household...he needed to eat. A flash of anger rushed through her, she chewed delicately until it was past. Sighed. Made her final decision.

"I need to borrow Tony for a while." She said. patting her lips with her napkin. She had done so in the past, but only for a few hours at a time. This time it would be far longer. At first, as her son stiffened, Evangeline thought he would refuse. That he might actually tell her, admit to her that he needed Tony near, that he wanted him close. After all what did one say when another asked for use of a spouse? NO! came to mind. 

But instead of letting the words, the need flow out, he pressed his lips into a flat line, not even looking over at the shaking slave hunched in the chair a few feet away. At the man who he spent more of his time with than any other person, waking or sleeping. More than his fiancee, indeed, significantly more than the lovely Jen. 

"Certainly." Jethro replied, his voice stilted, formal, his face wooden, concealing all true emotion. "How long will you need him?"

"Oh, I don't know. I have a project he would be perfect for. I simply can't get to it myself." She waved a hand dismissively. Not about to forgive him for the failure to admit his feeling where Tony could hear them. He had had a chance to ease the terrible hurt and pain in the young man's eyes. And he had not done it. She would see he paid for the failure. "No more than a few weeks, three months at most." 

The silence was as loud as she could have hoped for. Her face remained warm and happy as she smiled, giving every impression she had no inkling of the tensions ricocheting around the table. She had not been a matriarch for this long with learning to control her features. 

"It will give you a chance to decide how to move Jen in after the marriage. I am sure she won't want to share quarters with Tony. I'll keep him out of her way and get some use out of him as well. He and I will have fun, it has been a while since we spent enough time together on our own. Jen will be able to have the run of your estate, I hear she has an excellent house keeper who manages her home. It is entirely likely she will want to keep her own Matron with her here. Tony can be moved to my estate, I can always use more help there. Sebastian is so new, and with Gregory getting on in age..." She let her train of thought trickle off. She nodded once to herself, as if making a final decision.

Gibbs looked like he had been head butted by a bull in the gut. His food was forgotten, one bite skewered on his fork, suspended between plate and mouth. His fist was so tight she saw the white at his knuckles. If she was anyone else he might have hit her, she thought. She saw her faithful hound, Faramir lift his head, contemplating her son and not missing the barely leashed violence. Faramir probably wouldn't bite Jethro, but he would certainly keep him from laying hands on her. The dog's sharp eyes never wavered from them.

"Got you," She thought watching Jethro from under her lashes. And that took care of only half of her plan. She sipped from her drink, fighting to turn the smirk into a charming, appropriate smile. She loved her son, loved him with every fiber of her being, but he could be such a dunderhead sometimes. 

She smiled gently at Tony who had glanced up jerkily at her speech. He might actually faint she thought. She hated to do this to him, but it was for both her boys' own good. Faramir, alerted again to Tony's plight returned his attention and support to the slave, nuzzling his side. Evangeline continued, addressing herself to the dazed Tony.

"We'll be working together, my dear. And, I have a surprise for you as well. I'd heard you had him chained, Jethro. I'd like the chain off. And if he is willing there are several of my staff who have expressed a sincere fondness for him. All work and no play...you know how I feel about that." She laughed merrily. Gibbs looked gray.

She had not thought her son could look like that i her presence. Murderous. She contemplated the remainder of her chicken as if she wasn't aware of the expression. Perfect set up, she thought. Of course, as the matriarch, she had every right to utilize all of Tony's skills. Her son could hardly protest. 

If she had not thought it would trouble Tony so much, Tony who thought of her as a parental figure, just as she thought of him as a second son, she would have implied she might use him in her own bed, just to get in another jab at Jethro. But, she did not want to upset Tony any more than he was already. He would need her to lean on. He had to have no doubt that he could trust her to protect and care for him. They had a hell of a battle to wage together. All the more difficult as she couldn't let him know of it.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"Get out." Gibbs said. Fighting to keep his tone even. The beautiful woman scrambled hurriedly out of his bed. Glancing back over her shoulder, face puzzled she left the room, his tone leaving no doubt in her mind it was what his order had meant. Out of the room, all the way out, out of his sight and out of his bed.

Gibbs turned onto his back, he wanted to forget Tony was gone. He wanted to forget Jen was coming for lunch again in two days. He had spoken to her three times since Tony had left. He had seen her once, socially in public, and once here. For a dinner neither one had much enjoyed. He'd been close-mouthed, uncommunicative. She had been too talkative, too eager to please, nervous, sensing bigger trouble than she could handle. Not knowing that she had no hope of pulling him out of his dark mood. Only one person could have done that.

He wanted to forget it all, how things had been between them when Tony left with his mother. He wanted to forget the look in Tony's eyes when he finally got up the courage to look at Gibbs as the car drove away. Drove away with no opportunity for him to resolve his feelings, or for them to talk. 

The large head of his mother's pampered dog hanging over Tony's shoulder as they sat in the back of the limousine, if he didn't know better Gibbs could believe the hound was actually glaring at him as the car left. And his mother....she was up to something. 

He hadn't lived around her this long without learning to read her. But, this time, he couldn't quite read her well enough. What was she up to? He hoped it wasn't going to be a surprise for the wedding, a gift for him and his new bride. He growled. He was not about to get married, to set a date despite the subtle pressure being applied by Jen and her Family. If they pushed...he would tell them it was not going to happen. There were other issues to resolve first.

Tonight had come about because he was at his rope's end. About to come completely apart, dealing with the running of the household, a thing Tony took care of, and so well Gibbs never had to hear about it. Now, all domestic problems landed squarely in his lap. he hated it.

A little sex to take the edge off, before he exploded. He'd thought it would help. He'd gone about the moves, brought the woman up here, draped in silk, beautiful, lush and lovely, willing, her body soft and plump in all the right places and wonderfully aroused. Her pale, toffee-cream skin, her large green eyes, her rich full mouth, all of it, temptation. He wanted her, with a flash of lust that staggered him. So he'd brought her here, into his bed, not for the first time.

He refused to go to Jen for sex, until this confusion was worked out, she was off limits. The last thing he needed was a complication, a pregnancy. In reality it was nearly impossible for him to talk to her civilly, or to touch her. 

He blamed her for Tony being gone. Rationally he knew it was his own fault, but, every time he saw her he found it impossible to recall the affection he'd felt for her, instead he remembered the emptiness of his slave's absence. He blamed her, his relationship with her. His absolute, pig headed blunder of asking her to marry him.

She had come one day, come to his estate with her Matron in tow, at Evangeline's invitation. To look over the household. Gibbs had found her in his private suite, his mother at her side, talking about the colors, discussing if they needed changing. Colors Tony had chosen. It took every ounce of his control not to shout at them to get out. He had watched with fury as she touched his things, stroked them as if she had any right. things Tony had held, used and handled, things Tony had purchased and laughingly given to Jethro, telling him, yes he needed another stuffed chair, yes he needed a blanket this color, yes, he needed this particular suit.... 

No, the last thing he wanted right now was sex with Jen or any other kind of intimacy with her.

He turned to the other easily accessible group of women. The ones who worked on his estate, slave and free. Gaby was a slave, they had known one another for years, at times intimately. Yet..for the first time ever, she hadn't felt right to him when he touched her, her incredible musky scent normally capable of driving him wild, tonight it hadn't smelled right, it wasn't the scent he burned for. The soft perfume that wafted in the temperate night air, the silk of her skin, the softness, the sweet flavor of her mouth, the caress of her nipples against his chest...none of it soothed him. His body of course did respond. He felt his anger rising with the degree of his arousal. Finally he could stand it no more.

He turned as she left, slipping into the silk robe she carried, bowing in his direction, her face puzzled, concerned for him, but not alarmed. He had never hurt her, she had been in his bed on and off for a dozen years, he had a certain affection for her. She had no reason to fear him, none at all. But all of a sudden, he couldn't bear it, her nearness, her touch. He couldn't stand it, that she was here, in his bed. Her dark fall of hair spread over his pillows, her body lifting to his, her sighs of pleasure at his touch honest, real...and he couldn't stand it. He'd pulled out of her, shaking, told her to go, to leave.

He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. Her heat and wetness was cooling and drying on his fingers, his unsatisfied prick. He would give so much to just sleep well this night. To stretch out and feel Tony at his feet, to feel Tony wake, murmuring and rubbing his feet, his ankles with an affectionate hand, as he always did. Every night. Gibbs was used to those casual touches, they comforted him, satisfied him. All of them initiated by him pressing his feet into those gifted hands. 

He was in this hellish position because Tony had changed that pattern. Tony, his slave, had reached out and touched him in a new way. A possessive way, a suggestive way. Or in a way Gibbs had interpreted as aggressive. Possessive. Sexual. A way he was not ready for.

A week had gone by. His mother had called, letting him know how the project was going...the project he suspected her of inventing to take Tony from him. She told him every time how Tony was. Not because Gibbs had asked. He wasn't able to bring himself to ask. She told him, without having to be asked. Every word essential to him, but every word an knife blade in his guts. Tony wasn't here, where he belonged, and his mother, the devious matriarch of the Family, wasn't ready to give him back. If she ever would be. Gibbs was beginning to suspect he was going to have to go and physically take Tony back. Evangeline adored Tony. She would keep him.

Tony was doing a great job. Fitting in so well. Gibbs once again putting her off when she asked about the chain. That was one custom that she would not break. Gibbs had been the one to chain the slave, only he would be the one to unchain him. He wasn't going to unchain Tony. He knew it with every fiber of his being. But he couldn't say it aloud. He couldn't tell his mother that he would not do it. He put her off each time she called. Each time it was the last thing she asked. The last thing he remembered of their conversation. Her reminding him that there were others waiting to take Tony into their beds. Men and women. He would kill them first. If any one of them dared to touch Tony while he was still chained....he would....with his bare hands...he would...he closed his eyes, his fists clenched until they were bloodless. It was a long, long time before he could think rationally again, draw a breath that wasn't like raw acid in his aching chest.

Gibbs turned his head to look towards the bathroom and into the night-shadowed shower. He hadn't let himself treat the area like anything important had happened in there. He showered each day, washed and shaved. Went to work. For a whole week without Tony at his side. Without Tony at the foot of his bed, sleeping there warm and snoring softly. A presence that Gibbs longed for. Needed. Had to have here in his rooms in order to sleep well. 

He had stopped Mariah when she came to wash the linens. Let her take all of them, all but Tony's blanket, the one that smelled of his skin, lightly of his fresh clean sweat. It was folded across the end of the vast bed, right where it was every night as Gibbs went to sleep, as if waiting for Tony to come and wrap it around himself, prelude to sleeping. Mariah knew it wasn't to be moved, washed or aired. Gibbs had made it very clear.

Each morning after the bed was stripped and remade, the blanket was placed in its spot. And it stayed there until Gibbs went to sleep. Until he reached out or sat up in the night and pulled it to him, buried his face in it. Drew the scent of his slave, of Tony, into his lungs. Slept with the blanket in his arms, hands tangled in it. 

Each morning he folded it, stroking a hand over it's surface, the last thing he touched before he left the suite. Very gradually he noticed it smelled less and less like Tony, and more and more like himself.

His body feeling old and tired, aching, he rolled to his feet. The shower loomed and he headed for it. Seeing in his mind's eye Tony, huddled there on the warm, butterscotch colored tiles, in pain. Where he had left him. Where he had walked away from him. Stepped around him.

His own confusion was no excuse. It had been inexcusable. He had always treated Tony differently. Tony had always been more than a mere slave. They had been friends, companions. He had been thinking about a future with Tony. About...sex. With a man. Gibbs forced his feet to keep carrying him towards the shower. Sex. With Tony. 

The gods knew he was afraid of the idea. The reality...he shook, his hands trembling violently as he grasped the edge of the enclosure, resting his forehead against the restorative cool of the glass, praying to his patron god to give him strength. 

Tradition made male to male relationships acceptable between soldiers. The cult of Mithras, the brotherhood of Aries...but Gibbs had not been one to partake of such things. His focus had always been women. Now...well into his forties he was thinking too much of sex with a man. The thought of it....he stumbled into the shower and wrenched the faucets on. The icy water hit him before it had a chance to warm. It took his breath away. 

Slowly it warmed. He held is hand up in the stream, rinsing the woman's juices from himself, the water pounding his groin, cleaning her away. The hard needle like spray of the water, turned up as high as he could bear it, ravaged his skin and his nerves. He had nothing left to protect himself with. The water laid him bare. He had nothing left to argue with. Nothing left to hide behind. He saw himself with crystal clarity.

He let himself fall to his knees, putting his hands down in the same place Tony's hands had rested, his knees where Tony's had been. He had left his slave here. Like this. He sank to his side, the hot water pounding onto his curled back. He had left Tony on his side, here, in pain, afraid. Tony afraid because of him. He had walked away. The memory cut into his heart. He had been a cold, heartless, rigid bastard.

And he had lost Tony because of it.


	6. Chapter 6

"Jethro." Gibbs stopped walking as he heard the low contralto voice of his fiancee behind him. He had been trying to avoid her, trying to sort out his position and come to a firm decision before he made contact with her again, but it was not to be. He let out the breath he was holding, determined not to let all the frustration he was feeling out on her. She was not the reason, not the real reason he was in the mood he was. It was not her fault he was counting the days of Tony's absence.

He turned and she smiled, a small uncertain, strangely brave smile, that made him glad he made the effort to keep his rage to himself. He waited for her to catch up to him. She hesitated then put an unsteady hand on his arm. He came very close to flinching, suppressing the instinct only though supreme force of will. The urge to brush the touch off was overwhelming. 

"Please." She said, her voice so quiet he barely heard her, a tiny broken edge to it, he bent closer to hear the rest. "Please, Jethro, we need to talk." Her dark eyes shimmered. He was momentarily stunned. Madam Director was on the verge of tears and at the office no less.

Tears combined with a lady, Jethro Gibbs had no choice. His mother would have disowned him if he didn't do the chivalrous thing and assent, if only to preserve the lady's honor in public. He couldn't bring himself to put his hand over hers, that move was too intimate to consider, but he freed his arm and put a hand at the small of her back, guiding her, taking control, subtly but effectively. Offering her support in a way he preferred.

She was right. He nodded, stiff, his face grim, he couldn't make it smile, no matter how hard he tried. He hadn't smiled since Tony went to his mother's. Tony was the one who made him smile, those antics, the jokes, the silly cracks...he almost smiled remembering...

Jen let him lead her up the stairs, her hands nervously, restlessly twisting, still trembling, he felt her emotion, the intensity of it and felt sorry for her, for himself, for both of them. They entered one of the conference rooms off of her private office. She put out her hand and engaged the privacy lock. No one was going to disturb them short of a national disaster.

She turned towards him, and he knew she wanted him to embrace her, to kiss her, to give her some deeper sign of affection, and he couldn't. He put a hand on her shoulder, his thumb caressing the edge of her collar, just touching bare skin. The limit of what he could give her.

"I'm sorry, Jen. This is not a good time." He said, fighting to keep his voice even, kind. Her eyes fell for a moment, then she moved to the table holding a fresh pot of coffee. Caffeine, his dark nemesis. He smelled it, rich and strong, wanting it with an immediacy that he wanted little else in his life.

"Coffee?" She asked him, her voice a little choked. 

Gods. She loved him, Gibbs thought. How much more merciful if she was only merely fond of him, if he could continue to pretend that this was a Family driven alliance for both of them. Not a romantic one. Sex and comfortable companionship. A convenient lover in a marriage that benefited both Families, a wife to take a wife's place for formal occasions, at dinners and during Family gatherings. But on Jen's side it was more. He saw that now.

"Yes, thank you, Jen." He said, watching as she made it for him. Serving him, her pale hands uncertain and unsteady, the spoon tinkling against the rim of the china cup. Her rounded nails gleamed pink, fingers beautifully tapered, drawing his gaze, enticing, as she offered him the cup and saucer. 

He had always loved those things about women. The softness, the scent of their bodies, the curves that made them up. Not hard lines like men's bodies. Nothing on a woman felt like the swollen half-hardness, the ~maleness~ he had felt when Tony's body had been pressed to his. 

He liked women, desired them, enjoyed what made them different from himself, the essence of ~femaleness~. Jen was no exception. He liked the way she tasted and felt when he sank into her body, her breasts under his own chest, her little cries of pleasure ringing in his ears, the way she sighed when he thrust deep into her, a little shocked by the force of it. But he didn't love her.

She was an unusual woman, a gifted one. She had risen far higher than most women of good Family did these days. Most wouldn't want to work, to endure the rigors of the office, dealing with others beyond the simple level of internal family politics most wives dealt with. She had to maintain a hard outer shell and he'd believed it to be at least partly true armor. Yet, here was evidence he had been let into the inner husk of the woman, beneath the protective shield. All the way to her heart, where he now held the virtual point of an arrow ready to drive unforgivably deep. 

Where he could and had hurt her. Where he had never wanted to be. Not like this. What he did want was loyalty, friendship, and he would offer the same. No open affairs with women of her class, no dishonoring of her name or their commitment. The way she loved him would only be balanced if he was capable of loving her in return. Which he knew he did not. Could not. Not by any stretch.

He accepted the cup, not able to offer her a smile of thanks. She moved to one of the large leather covered chairs and sank into it. He followed and sat across from her, so they would be able to look into each other's eyes, he owed that to her if she wanted it. His honest feelings and reactions.

"Jethro. Are you going to retract your proposal?" Such a small voice. So much doubt and fear. She was the minor Family. It would be assumed she had some defect, some deficit that had caused him to pull out. It would mark her.

"It is on my mind." He admitted, not wanting to lie to her.

"Are you going to do it?" He heard the other questions. The ones that she wasn't asking. How he would do it. If he would denounce her. If he would let her make the retraction and save face for herself and her Family, just that much.

"Not at this time. Though we do need to talk and be clear on boundaries if you do not wish to withdraw yourself." He said to her and saw the pain on her face blossom, and yet, also ease a fraction. He was not going to humiliate her. It meant more than it should. She still had time to make this work, to fight for her man. He didn't know how to crush that hope, to cut the ties here in one stroke instead of easing away. 

"What are your terms? I want this marriage to go through. I am willing to agree to reasonable terms to see that it does." Harder, her chin was no longer trembling, the tears blinked away. He nodded his approval. He didn't want to deal with emotions, weeping and pleading. Civilized bargaining, he could handle that. No scenes and no dramatics.

"We are both independent people. We have jobs. Family responsibilities. I won't ask you to give that up. I intend to continue to work and my mother will run the Family as she has for the last twenty some years." He began with the simple obvious things. Jen could talk about them without becoming emotional. It provided her with a chance to further gather her composure.

"Yes. Reasonable. I have no objection to that. More?" She asked, though it was plain she hoped against all common sense there wouldn't be more.

"I am used to living alone. In the past when I have shared common rooms with my wives...it was not ideal. I need a place that I can be alone, that is mine. Where no one goes without my leave. We will have separate rooms." He stated it baldly so there was be no chance of confusion. "You will have your own rooms, your own staff."

"On or off the estate?" She asked, her throat squeezing down a bit tighter.

"Whichever is your preference." He said, granting her the choice. Even knowing which she wanted he let her be the one to say it. Her nod was not graceful, but jerky. Her eyes bored into his, seeking his reactions, a thing he couldn't give her. He wished he could. They were locked tight behind his own well crafted barrier.

"On your estate." She manged to get out, before reaching for a tissue, pressing it to both her eyes so her face was hidden for a few moments. He imagined her letting the pain out, letting it twist her attractive features behind the thin paper screen. Then she drew in a slow breath, shaky, lowering it, letting him bear witness to her red rimmed eyes. She was hiding nothing. But he already knew he was a bastard.

"Very well. No more public announcements. I am a private man. Only my mother, the Gibbs matriarch, makes announcements about me, or my Family." He was not going to budge on that one. She made no attempt to give him a verbal response, she only nodded her agreement. Already she knew her announcement of their betrothal had been a poor decision, she wished fervently she had not made it.

"You may bring your staff with you, as you chose. Within reason. My staff will continue to care for me." He told her. "I have a cook and a housekeeper, groundsmen, a few others."

She looked at him with hollow eyes, dark smudges, makeup and fatigue, under them. She heard what he hadn't said, that there were women there on the estate that he had sex with. Women he would not sell or ask to leave.

"Jethro, do you love me?" He knew the question before it was out. "Do you want to sleep with me anymore?" Pain, sharp, brittle, he heard it in her roughened tone. He regretted it, being the cause of it, because of his lack of care. He should have made it clear from the start so she would not have formed her own expectations.

"You are an attractive woman, Jen. Of course I want to sleep with you. I do care for you." The lack of emotion in his words broke her further. 

"Is it Tony?" She asked. "Is he the one you are in love with?"

The outrage was instant, blazing. He felt his face turning red, furious. "Tony," he said, biting off each word, "is not your business. I will not tolerate any interference with my slaves or staff, that includes Tony."

"It is because of Tony." Jen said, bravely. He looked at her in astonished respect. He'd known men in the Guard, Centurions who would not have dared answer back or push him when he was in this mood. She had not risen to her position by not being able to read people. Yet she took the chance.

"Once we are married...wouldn't he be happier with someone else? Shouldn't you let him have a chance to have a loving relationship with someone else...." She asked him, her eyes intent on his, earnest. "Won't it hurt him to see you married if he loves you...?"

The fragile cup shattered in his hand as he reacted to her suggestion. Tony, with someone else. In someone else's bed. He saw red.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"Yes, what is it?" Ducky asked when his intercom buzzed. He was bent over a cadaver with the most intriguing wounds. A square entrance, deep, and ending in a subtly hooked point if the casts of the wounds were to be believed. Of course there might be some distortion depending on if the victim was moving at the time he was punctured with the implement.....

"Dr Mallard, can you come to my office at once?" It was the Director. He straightened, not liking the tone of her voice, how it quavered.

"Certainly," he said, stripping the nitrile gloves off and depositing them along with his protective gown in the rubbish bin next to the exit. "I am on my way." After briskly washing his hands and taking a moment to seize his first aid box, he stepped into the elevator, riding it up, his agile mind making the leap from investigating and pinpointing an unknown weapon to wonder what the Director needed him for.

They were not on the friendliest of terms, so it certainly was not for a heart to heart. He thought bringing a few bandages and the like a good precaution as an injury to a member of the upstairs staff was much more likely. Something bloody and distressing. A sprain would be hustled off to the clinic a short, fifteen minute ride away, but bloody things upset people. He got called for blood. 

He came off the elevator next to her office and rapped on the door. It was not a shock at all to see First Centurion and Special Agent Gibbs pacing like a caged lion, a handful of bloody kleenex clenched in his fist, glowering as if it were Ducky's fault he was injured in the first place.

"Jethro, how nice to see you. What have you done to your hand?" Ducky entered setting his box on the large conference table. He snapped on a pair of bright purple gloves. 

"Ducky." The growl was mostly comprehensible. Ducky looked over his spectacles at the man. Oh, not good. The boy was in a mood. Best to remove him from here as soon as possible.

"Come now." He tugged the man towards him until they stood under the brightest light. "Ah." He teased out a small, white shard. "China. It is a macho cliche to break cups in your hand, my dear. I'll have to irrigate the wound thoroughly. There may be several pieces retained in the wound. And that would most regrettably cause infection to set in." 

"Hold this tightly." He gave Gibbs a bundle of gauze, and Gibbs pressed it tightly to the lacerations, showing his teeth in a grimace that Ducky was startled to realize was supposed to be a smile. His need to remove Jethro from this room increased, he needed to get him talking before he blew up. Ducky snapped the lid of his emergency kit shut and turned to leave. 

"Come along Jethro, this will be much easier to take care of downstairs. I shall enjoy having a live patient. It has been a while since I had anything jumpy on my tables." 

The Director, not invited, and knowing it would not be a good time to invite herself, stood in the doorway to her office and watched them leave. The elderly physician gripping the younger man's elbow and steering him along. Gibbs making no protest, led down the corridor like a woolly lamb.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ducky has always been my favorite. Ever since MFU days.

Ducky decided silence was overrated. The last thing he wanted to have happen was to encourage Jethro to think. The boy always got so grim when he thought. Ducky chatted amiably on, at first just a soothing banter to take Gibbs out of his own too serious mind. The man was in a state, literally shuddering with fury as Ducky piloted him down the steps and into the morgue.

Ducky cleaned off a table stand, covering it with a sterile field. He warmed the saline irrigant and gently but thoroughly washed the wounds on Gibbs' hand. It would take twelve stitches or more to close all of the cuts. Time enough for him to get to the bottom of Gibbs' temper. 

Jethro if anything was too controlled as he sat down, ready to snap if he didn't let out a little of the steam he was holding in. The behavior Ducky had seen, the crushed cup, was a clear aberration. Jethro was in some kind of trouble. Gradually he relaxed as Ducky worked on him.

"Really, Jethro, I was surprised to hear of the engagement. You caught me entirely by surprise. I wasn't at all sure that congratulations were in order. She isn't pregnant is she?" The hostile stare gave him the answer to that particular question. Very much not.

"Now, now, you can hardly blame me for asking, the two of you are such incompatible creatures. I could hardly dream of a worse choice for you." Ducky set aside the saline and peered at the lacerations. Clean as a whistle, the blood sluiced away. "Now, don't move, I am going to inject the anesthetic...." He prepped the syringe, snapped on new gloves.

"I don't need it." Was Gibbs' growled response. The first that wasn't a grunt since they arrived in the morgue. Ducky glance up at him, lips pursed in disbelief. He was met by the fierce scowl of Jethro's intimidating Centurion-face. Ducky sniffed and went back to his work. Jethro was not ready to talk yet. Ducky could wait, plenty of time left.

"Well, I need it then, even if you don't." Drawing up a generous amount of lidocaine Ducky infiltrated the skin around the wounds. Gibbs never flinched, sitting like a rock in the chair. As if the hand in question belonged to someone else. Bad. Very bad. The bottled up emotions were set to blow like nitroglycerine.

"You know if you screamed once in a while it would help remind me you were one of my living patients." Ducky commented. "I get so few." Jethro just glared.

"Where have you been keeping Anthony? I've missed him. He never forgets to bring me my cocoa in the mornings. It is quite nice of him. But it's been over a week now. I am becoming quite concerned. Abby tells me he hasn't been in in all that time. Is he well, Jethro? I'd be more than happy to take a look at him." Ducky didn't really think there was anything physically wrong with Tony. Gibbs would never allow him to be hurt.

The growl was startlingly loud. Ah, Ducky thought. Now this is the real problem, we've finally pinned it. "Just where is he?" He asked, pointedly. "What have you done with him? You haven't done something silly like sell him?" That thought was alarming and Ducky held his breath waiting for the reply.

"I haven't done anything. Tony is at mother's." Was all Gibbs ground out, not unclenching his teeth. 

"Ah." So Tony was at Evangeline's and Jethro was unhappy about it. Very unhappy. Ducky was dead set against slavery in all its forms, but he had to admit Tony and Jethro seemed to get along quite well. Astonishingly well. But if they had met in any other way...then they would never have become close. They were too different. Their personalities too divergent. Gibbs so serious, Tony so playful, hiding a frightening competence from the world. And their ages differed so markedly.

"Dear boy, you are positively vibrating with tension. You can't keep all of this locked up inside." Ducky said. "What ever it is that has happened, you need to talk to someone about it. I know if I recommend a therapist you won't go, so I am all you have. Talk to me, Jethro." The silence persisted. Ducky sighed.

"Fine, not ready to discuss Tony yet, on the other subject, tell me why on Earth you would want to marry Jen Sheppard." Ducky pushed, drawing the needle up and tying the suture snugly. He thought that overture, too, would fail.

"Family." Gibbs said. "Sex. The sex is good. Her Family has several connections that would benefit the Gibbs'. And I was tired of things being the way they were."

"Hmmm." Ducky responded, snipping the slender filament before moving on to the next stitch. He had never taken much of an active role in the daily machinations of his own Family. But he knew such marriages were arranged regularly. But not for men of Gibbs' age. This marriage was not Evangeline's work. This one had Jethro written all over it. Jethro had a very bad habit of spontaneity in his love life. A trait he regretted enormously later on more sober reflection when his prick was dry. 

"And how were things, Jethro?" A softer question, but direct.

"I..." He looked puzzled for a moment when Ducky snuck a look up at him, staring off into space. "I wanted to be married again. Not be alone. I am getting older." It was probably true, as far as it went.

"Alone? Older? You are in your prime." Ducky hooted mildly, fighting to keep the surprise out of his voice. He could well believe Gibbs wanted to be married. He was used to the institution. He'd already had three wives. All fairly incompatible, women who were nice enough, just poorly suited to Gibbs himself. Jen Sheppard as a cure for loneliness had never occurred to Ducky. 

"What of your mother, Tony, those of us who work with you? Your son? With all of us, you still felt alone? Enough to go to that woman for friendship, companionship? I must tell you, that doesn't make much sense to me." Ducky made no attempt to hide his lack of affection for Jen Sheppard as a boss or anything else. He never had.

Jethro, instead of getting angry, loud or snarling did something so out of character that Ducky paused in his task and sat back. Jethro went quiet, then fidgeted. He looked aside, refusing to make eye contact.

"Oh, no. That isn't it at all, is it." Ducky murmured. He leaned in. "What is it really?"

Gibbs frowned. While Ducky was a surrogate father to him, he could hardly put into words the doubts and fears he was having. When he tried to organize them to look at them critically, to pick them apart, he felt ridiculous. The fears were...childish. Still, this was Ducky asking, in the privacy of the empty morgue, only one, sheet covered dead body a witness to the conversation. Gibbs looked right into the kindly eyes of his friend and surrogate father regarding him with so much compassion.

"Tony." He said, the volume of feeling saying it all. Ducky's face cleared. Tony. He nodded. Pulled another stitch through.

"Ah. Tony." The physician repeated, a moment later. And he bent back to his work to hide his smile. Tony. That said it all. Ducky had know Gibbs nearly all of the younger man's life. He had never contemplated that there would be a day when he heard Gibbs say another man's name in precisely that tone. And as Jethro grew older, he sadly thought it likely he'd never say a woman's name that way either. 

"I have these thoughts..." Gibbs halted, seemed to reconsider. "I've been military all my adult life, Duck. I never joined the all male cults, had not the least thought I might get anything out of them. Never strayed from women. Never wanted to." He shrugged. "I am not sure why now."

Ducky nodded. Now that Gibbs was talking, he spent more of his concentration on work, pushing the fine needle through the edges of the laceration and pulling it through, bringing the edges together, skilfully.

"I bought Tony and we've been closer than brothers. One of the best decisions I've ever made. We get along, we understand each other. I want him around. Before him, I've never been able to stand having anyone around me all the time. Now, when he isn't there, I miss him. I can't stop thinking about where he is and what he is doing." Jethro complained as he explained. "I can't sleep."

"That is perfectly natural when you are in love, Jethro." Ducky chided gently. Snipping more threads. "It confuses everything. Your body, your brain, your hormones, your life. It is why it is such a desirable and yet feared state."

"I can't be in love, Duck. I don't know how to be in love." Gibbs said, insistent. "Besides that DiNozzo is a man."

"There is nothing wrong with homosexuality, or with homosexuals. I am one myself." Ducky said letting his affront make its way into the words.

"I know that. I have no problem with homosexuality, or with you. To be honest, it hasn't been something I have spent time thinking about. Never applied to me, to my life. I just have always been heterosexual." Gibbs said trying to make his point.

"And a successful one at that." Ducky said acerbically. "Three marriages. Soon to be four if you don't come to your senses." He sniffed.

"I don't know the first thing about being in love, or about being with...a man." Gibbs continued ignoring the last comment. " I am attracted to women, Ducky. I have been all of my life."

"And now you aren't. Now there is someone who doesn't fit into the box you have crafted for all those who have the attributes you find appealing in females. Because he is not a female, he is male. It is that simple."

"Simple. It is not simple at all. It is anything but simple." Gibbs denied. He frowned. Ducky smiled a gentle smile, one he'd bestowed on Jethro thousands of times over the years.

"Trust me, Jethro. It is simple. You are in love. That is the beginning, the middle and the end of the story. Most often there isn't a thing you can do about the beginning, it just happens. All you can decide is how much effort you are going to put in to the middle before it is time for it to end. Sometimes it is the briefest moment of your life, other times you get lucky and it lasts all of your life. It really is that simple."

"Ducky I just told you I haven't any idea how to go about this. How to change what I am, what I like. I....I can't touch him that way. He is a man. He's got a penis for god's sake."

"Sexually? You can't touch him...what, his penis? You can't be afraid of touching a penis. You have one of your own. Nothing to be afraid of. It doesn't bite. And as for touching him other ways, you touch him all the time. He sleeps with you every night. When he isn't there you say you can't sleep."

"He sleeps at the end of my bed, not in it." Gibbs defended himself, wondering at the flush that colored his face. "I like women. I prefer women. I am meant to be with women, I have never doubted it a single day of my life."

Ducky snipped again. "No, Jethro. Don't lie to me. You are thinking about something different, right now. Maybe it scared the shite out of you, maybe it has made you want to run away from it, but you are thinking about it. The truth is important."

"I..." Gibbs wasn't meeting Ducky's eyes. Ducky sighed. His hand was also curling up into a balled fist.

"Jethro, I can not stitch up your hand if you make a fist." Ducky reminded the other man. "Relax. Good. You can say it. Say it. I love Tony."

"Ducky..." Gibbs yelled in frustration. "Gods, you know how to push. Even if I do, I can't....."

"Do? Do what? I didn't hear what you were talking about."

"Damn it." Gibbs jaw was clenched. "Even if I am in love with Tony...I can't do that with him."

"Hmmm. What would that be? And whatever it is, why not? He is quite a lovely man."

"Sex. With a man. With Tony. I can't take the chance." Ducky's eyes snapped up to meet the blue ones.

"What chance are you referring to?" He asked curiously, because now Jethro's voice was in complete earnestness. Jethro believed he was taking a chance he couldn't afford to take.

"He touched me when I wasn't expecting it. He...I..almost killed him. Don't you understand? I almost killed him because he put his arms around me and held me. I thought of all the ways I could do it, they ran through my mind in less than a second. Break his neck, stop his heart. I came so close to doing it." Gibbs was now pale, shaken, the memory troubling, upsetting.

"But you didn't. You said it yourself. He surprised you. You have been trained to fight all your life. Your training kicked in. You approach everything like it is a life and death situation, it is ingrained into your responses. Better to be safe than sorry. Then you back off if it isn't."

"I can't...take the chance. What if next time I don't stop? What if I just react to a slave touching me without my permission, a man, and I kill him. I don't know how to change who I am. I am not sure I want to." Gibbs said.

"You wouldn't have fallen in love if some part of you didn't want to. If it wasn't meant to be. And I've never seen you shy away from letting him touch you. Surely you realize you don't treat him like most slaves you encounter. And Gibbs didn't. He discussed things with Tony, ate with him, shared ideas, plans. And now, Ducky realized Gibbs was going to marry Jen because he loved Tony. Because he couldn't figure out what to do about these feelings for his slave.

"I told you Duck, I don't know how to be in love." Gibbs told him, a wry, sad smile on his face. 

"We'll isn't it good you have the rest of your life to learn?" Ducky said briskly, whipping the sterile field off as he completed his task. He looked at the neat stitches. "A very good job if I do say so myself. Well isn't it nice for you I haven't lost any of my skills?"

Yeah, nice. Thanks." He paused. "Ducky...."

"Listen to me Jethro. It is time for you to go and get Tony, or to decide you would rather be not-in-love with Madame Director. Married to your fourth wife for however long the two of you can stand it. Wouldn't it be better by far to give yourself a chance to actually be in love for a while? Just this one time?" He wadded up the materials and tossed them off into the rubbish bin along with the bloodied gloves. "Now go. You have the next week to work it out."

"Week, what week?" Jethro looked at him in confusion.

"You are slipping, my boy. That is your right hand, your gun hand, the hand you write with. You now are officially off duty until the stitches are ready to come out. One week. Go, scoot." Ducky told him, firmly.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Tony hadn't been sleeping well. Evangeline had considered for less than one second putting him in with her other slaves to sleep in the dormitory. Perhaps the company would do him good, distracting him from the endless thoughts of her son. She saw those thoughts flitting through the young man's eyes every time he looked at her, every time their eyes met. Then she decided she couldn't risk it, if anything happened between Tony and another slave, Gibbs would never forgive her. She put him in a guest room on his own where Faramir slept with him a large warm presence stretched out at his side.

Where Tony wasn't sleeping, but tossing and turning all night, every night. In the morning he came willingly enough with her on whatever errands she had, taking care of the details she asked him to. Yet, it was painfully obvious to her his heart wasn't into anything. He hadn't even pointed out, or asked about the supposed project she wanted him for, the one that never materialized. 

He wasn't sleeping. She was worried. Her dog was worried. Every time she checked on him Tony was awake or tossing fitfully, Faramir trying to comfort him with his big warm body. She wasn't surprised. It was years since Tony had slept alone. And as much as he adored Faramir, the hound wasn't Gibbs. And just as reports to her from Gibbs' housekeeper let her know her son wasn't sleeping, Tony too was restless. His body missed Gibbs every bit as much as his heart did. They were companions whether Jethro admitted it or not.

Finally, she took Tony into her own rooms, letting him stretch across the end of her huge old monstrosity of a bed, tucked in with both pillow and thick blankets. Talking to him quietly as they drifted off to sleep seemed to her to help some. But he would wake up, startled, gasping. He only slept for short periods. Faramir was looking more and more grave. 

Evangeline was an old enough woman, needing far less sleep than he did, even so he slept less than she, wakening with a start, gasping, shivering. Reaching out for her feet, then when he touched them, recognizing they didn't belong to his master, to Gibbs, he reluctantly let his hands slide away.

Nightmares, too. Ones that had him calling out in his fitful sleep. Begging not to be sold. She sympathized. Worried. And she brought him up into her bed, under her own sheets, sitting beside him as she read her accounts late into the night, stroking his hair, his damp cheek against the fearful dreams. Poor dear. He found some peace like that, she holding the phantoms at bay as best she could, like a mother protecting her child, a bulwark against all the terrors he imagined as he dozed.

She wondered just what the hell was taking her son so long to come for him. And if he'd turn out to be too afraid to do anything at all. Her son, decorated a dozen times for bravery. Afraid. It wasn't a surprise. He had never been faced with this situation. He'd never been in love. Only in lust. She understood that, too.

Being in love with Jethro's father had terrified her. But, she'd gotten over the fear. Jethro only had to make the first overture. Tony was for more courageous than Jethro or she suspected, herself, when it came to love. He had reached out. A slave, he had taken the chance. She had felt so proud of him when he told her, the tears running down his face. She had patted him, kissed his cheek. 

But it had not stopped her from actually considering gifting him to another landowner, DeSantis Tacitus himself came to mind. A beautiful man, with dark curling hair, wealthy, a few years younger than Jethro, but settled, established and he had often expressed an entirely appropriate appreciation for Tony. Stated that he could think of no more wonderful Slave Consort. Tony deserved such a position. 

And Tacitus resided near enough to her own estate she could see Tony often. That was her last resort, to be used only if Jethro wouldn't take the needed measures to bring Tony back to his side. Leaving Tony at her son's estate after he married Jen, unless the two men had worked out the fundamentals of their own relationship, their own love...it would be inviting the worst kind of trouble. Maybe not at first, but eventually Jen would feel she had to act on her resentment. By the time Gibbs noticed the danger, Tony might be harmed irreparably. 

And Evangeline was not going to allow that. Perhaps it was time to arrange a lunch meeting with Tacitus. Just as a feeling out of the man's honest degree of interest in Tony. Nothing formal naturally.


	8. Chapter 8

"Welcome, First Centurion." His mother's slave greeted him. "May I bring you some refreshment?" She tried to lead him into the atrium, and to one of the tree shielded tables there in the cool breeze. To sit him there beneath the winking dark green of the leaves. "Please sit in the shade while..."

"No, thank you. Where is my mother?" The First Centurion replied, not at all politely. The slave's eyes widened. She bowed her head slightly, heeding the warning in his voice. Today it would be an easy thing for him to take offense, he was letting her know it. 

Uninterested in a further postponement, Gibbs wasted no time on the niceties today. He hadn't seen Tony in a week and a half. He didn't want to wait another minute, hour or...a gods be damned second. He strode past the nervous woman. She hurried after him, wringing her hands, her sandaled feet whispering along the tiles.

"She is still in her suite. We have sent a runner to let her know you are here. Please, let me..." The slave made another effort to guard her mistress' privacy. She tried to keep up with his long stride, but he was in no mood to be redirected, she had to run to stay with him.

Gibbs ignored the offer of drink or food. He stalked down the wide, airy hall towards his mother's rooms, the slave pursuing him with a look of anxiety. He and his mother did not stand on ceremony with each other. She would not mind if he joined her in her private suite. Though if anyone else took the liberty...he cringed inwardly at the thought of his mother's fierce temper.

"Please..." the woman tried again, again Gibbs ignored her. He waved her away, and she stopped running beside him, bowing to the inevitable. He was not going to be talked into stopping.

He entered his mother's rooms with a brisk knock. Unless she was ill she would be awake. He was impatient. He'd been separated from Tony for too long, Tony was on his mind, just about the only thing he was thinking of. Ducky had made more sense than he liked to admit. Ducky could always be counted on to speak plainly.

Gibbs did love Tony. He hadn't loved a single one of the women he'd married, nor the ones he had taken to his bed in affection and purely for sex, but he did love his slave. His male slave. That was a point entirely separate from the question if he could do anything about it. If he could have a sexual relationship with Tony. He wasn't' even sure he was attracted to him that particular way. But he did ache to have Tony back in his rooms, back at NCIS, back in his bed. 

He wanted to put his hands on him. Touch him in the many little ways he did every day. The ways he counted on to anchor and balance himself. The way he missed every morning and every evening, and all day long since his mother had taken Tony.  
Taken him away. Gibbs had to get him back.

Kissing. Gibbs was sure he could kiss Tony. A mouth was a mouth. Fighting men often took what they could get in the field before a big battle. It confirmed that you were alive, it made your blood sing through your veins. The stars shine brighter, the air smell sharper. He'd seen it plenty, even if he hadn't done it much himself. He'd seen it and found it arousing to hear, to watch. Even if he didn't want to see a man's mouth on his own dick. He had kissed a man before, more than once. In gratitude. With fondness. To show respect and in friendship. Occasionally there had been passion on the other man's side, but Gibbs had never felt it burn fire through his body from any man's kiss. Still, it was reassuring that it wasn't all unknown to him. That he would not have to rely on Tony for all the experience.

He didn't understand it. Why he doubted he would be able to have sex with Tony. He had sex with women. His body performed as it was supposed to. Now suddenly he was in love, and he thought he wasn't able to have sex with the person who was, in a whole new way, closest to him in the world. He entered the suite, walking fast.

He slowed at the unexpected body under the bed's coverings. His mother? Still in bed? He felt a thread of concern grow. Worried he drew in a quick breath meant to bestow a bit of calm. Then hurried over, afraid of what he would find. That she was sick. His mother, the rock of the Gibbs Family. Sick. No doctor at her bedside. 

"Mother?" He called gently. The figure stirred, turned, the covers falling to reveal a shiny cap of hair. He would recognize that hair anywhere. Thick and short, brown/blond, silky. He'd run his fingers through it before, felt it when he'd smacked the back of Tony's head time and again. And the face lifted from under the pillows. He felt like someone had kicked him in the nuts.

Tony. Gibbs couldn't move for the shock. Tony, in his mother's bed. He gripped the covers and yanked them down. Naked. Tony in his mother's bed, naked. The dark of his pubic hair showing off the glint of fine gold at the apex of his thighs. 

Gibbs was abruptly was assailed with visions of the two of them together. Tony and his mother. His mother was an energetic woman, a powerful one, she still took lovers when one interested her. His legs began to shake.

He went to his knees beside the bed, reaching out, hands shaking, fingers ungraceful claws, gripped that luscious hair, his hands going to fists. He was there. Shaking so hard his teeth were chattering together, the fury, the pain and the disbelief, the betrayal scorching his heart.

Tony looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, face icy white. Terrified. Gibbs tried to force the image of Tony like this, his mother....Gods. He closed his own eyes hard. His teeth clenched, his jaw rigid, his breath grunting, hissing through his teeth, unable to unclench.

"Jethro." Came his mother's voice from behind him as she exited the bathroom, immaculately groomed. He turned to look at her, blinking stupidly. She was a handsome woman, her eyes brilliant with the vigor and joy of her life. She had made her life one she enjoyed. Why shouldn't she take Tony if she desired him? 

Gibbs felt hot and prickly all over. His mouth opened at last, but it wasn't words that rushed out, but stuttering air, he couldn't draw in enough, his arms, without his command, flexed. And Tony was against him, against his shirt front, squeezed, his face crushed to Gibbs' body, Gibbs unable to be gentle, not knowing if he wanted to be.

"Jethro." His mother said again. He jerked his face towards her. Stark. Uncomprehending for several long beats. His teeth showed, bared and threatening. Like an animal. She watched him. Waited. Unafraid, knowing him, his limits. 

"Jethro," she said more quietly for the third time. His eyes cleared, became aware of her, of where he was. He blinked, clearly surprised to see her. Then his eyes closed, tightly shut. And he groaned, his face tucking into Tony's neck. the scent of the man burst over him, reaching into his brain into the primitive, alpha male, territorial centers that remembered such things. The scent of one who was his. His. No other's. His teeth dug in, marking the skin under his teeth, biting, hard, Tony wincing, but melting, not pulling away as Gibbs dug his teeth in.

"You are just in time for luncheon. Tony, my dear, rise and shine." He heard his mother's voice as if from a distance. Ringing with a hollowness that he found odd. Echoing in his head. He put out a hand, gripping the bedpost hard to keep from toppling over. From falling all the way forward and pressing Tony into the mattress. Barely keeping from pushing between the thighs he knew would spread for him. Needing to know now. Needing.

He became aware that Tony's hands were fluttering over him, over his back, patting and when that didn't result in a rebuke, or in a calming of the agitated man holding him, he rubbed his big hands up and down Gibbs' back, firmer as he gained confidence.

Gibbs couldn't let go. Tony's hands came to rest so lightly on his upper back, careful, so careful not to presume, and Tony, too, was trembling. Gibbs thought it was probably him who started it. 

Pictures he did not want to see were flashing into his brain. Pictures of Tony in the throes of passion. With others holding him, loving him. He freed the hand he'd braced against the bedpost, grabbed the strong chin and....put his mouth over one edge of the other man's. Coming at the kiss obliquely. Tentatively, but desperate to have it. Needing to know. If he could, how much he could.

Lips, full, dry, smooth, hotter than he thought they'd be, silkier, not the same as the battle parched lips of other men he'd kissed. These so much more. Sweet and tender, a man's mouth, no woman's, yet lush. He managed to shift his aim, catching almost half of Tony's mouth, his own gasping, awkward, open. Tony trying to turn toward him, to give him all of the kiss, surrendering into it, following him. Fumbling. Uncertain. But meant with all his heart. 

"Jethro." Evangeline called, louder, with more authority. "Tony. We have guests waiting." She was not going to make it so easy for her son to win. The harder fought the battle, the better remembered. Leroy Jethro Gibbs would remember this fight. "Up and into the shower, now." She ordered. And here in this place, it was her voice Tony had to obey first.

Reluctantly Gibbs pulled back, his dilated eyes finding the ones looking up at his with shock. And hope. Gibbs had heard the tone in his mother's voice. She was the matriarch at this moment, not his mom. His hands slid off of Tony. Tony got up, sat, unable to immediately tear his gaze from his master's face, propped on one hip and outstretched arm, looking up into Gibbs' stunned face, before rising all the way and going into the bathroom Evangeline had just vacated. 

Gibbs watched him go, long lean legs, strong, rounded buttocks, slender waist, wide, smooth expanse of his flawless back. Gods. Oh, Gods. His ass. His beautiful ass. The dark crevice. That he would touch. He had to know if he could love a man, make love with Tony. If he could loosen the chain. Watch Tony grow fully and emphatically erect. Thick and long, thrumming with blood and passion heat. If he was able to enjoy the feel of it pushing against his body, in his hand, in his mouth...or...into his body...? Tony...in him? He was no stranger to the mechanics. He'd seen it done. Many times. Listened to it. Just never needed to do it. Nor wanted to. Always been happy with a woman's warm, satin, welcoming wetness. Things, though, were about to change.

"I do hope you are up to guests." Evangeline said nearing him, and bending down to drop a kiss on his forehead. He realized then he was still sitting where he'd landed when his legs had given out, he was sitting on the side of his mother's bed, where he had been kissing Tony. The bed that Tony had risen from. Naked. Bare. Gibbs scrunched his eyes shut. 

His mother had taken Tony to her bed. Tony had been naked in his mother's bed. Chained. Tony had still been chained. The flash of gold had been there. His chest eased, his stomach not so sure, stayed tight. It could not be. Tony could not be his mother's lover. He looked at her, regal, handsome. Attractive. And had no reasons to give why. 

Tony....he turned his face blindly toward the bathroom, the sound of the water cascading, stared. Tony was his. He had to be. 

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs." Said very quietly, with no possibility of it carrying into the shower and Tony overhearing, she came to stand in front of him. "I have asked Tacitus here to meet Tony. You remember Tacitus?"

"I do." And he did. They had served together briefly before Gibbs had moved to NCIS. A good man to have backing you, or beside you, an honorable man. 

"Why are you asking him to meet Tony?" But Gibbs knew. He recalled the look in the dark man's eyes when he'd seen Tony that first time. A look that remained. A man looking at someone he desired, wanted very much. Tacitus wanted his Tony. Gibbs' Tony. Gibbs growled.

"No, you will not be rude to my guests in my home. If you want Tony back, earn him. You treated him very shabbily. Tacitus, I think will do no such thing." Evangeline lifted her head, looking down at him. "It would be very easy for him to fall in love with Tony. And to move heaven and Earth to keep him happy."

Here Gibbs was, wondering if he was even capable of the mechanical act. That left him with a lot of ground to make up. He looked into his mother's eyes. They met his own steady and without looking aside.

"I need him. I want him." Gibbs said, forcing the words out, feeling the flush that followed. And the relief of saying them. He felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. His mother stared at him, hard, assessing.

"I have brought Tacitus here." She repeated. "I have brought him here, and given him the right to court Tony. If you want him, you are going to have to do more than tell me you want him. Or need him to make your life run smoothly. More than words, my son. I will believe you are what is best for him only if you manage to show me that it is true."

From joy to agony in so few seconds. Gibbs thought he was going to faint. His pulse pounded in his head, his ears ringing, too loud to hear what else his mother was saying.

"He is courting Tony?" He got out at last. Gibbs reached to his hip, his hand closing on empty air. He'd been reaching for his sword, the one he hadn't worn in years. Reaching for it, wanting to run it through the body of the good, worthy man who dared to want what was his.

"Yes. With my permission, he is courting him." The warning was in the tone, Evangeline hadn't missed the aborted gesture of her son reaching for a sword. "You will not challenge him. The choice will be Tony's, Jethro. And if he chooses Tacitus, I will sell him. And you will unchain him. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do." The water turned off, and both looked towards the shower.

Gibbs said, "I will meet you at the table, mother." His eyes like chips of blue-gray flint. He kissed her cheek. And left the room.

He walked down the halls. They were the halls he had run up and down as a child. Wide and echoing with a solemnity of ages of habitation, ancient and modern ceremonies. He had been married here, on these grounds three times. He went on his head bent with his thoughts. 

The stairs led him down, into the vaults. He went into them, the coffers and history of his Family, the relics all around him. He ignored them, he knew all of them, had touched all of them, held them in his hands. There was only one thing he needed.

The small, ebony wood trunk opened noiselessly. He had never taken what was in it out with the intent to use it. The metal gleamed dully as the light hit it. Old. Handed down generation to generation. This one was more than one thousand years old, hanging from it's often changed, plain leather cord. Reverently he lifted it out, turned it in his hands, just looked at it. It meant something he never supposed he'd have cause to use in his life from the time he'd been old enough to understand it's use. He rubbed his thumb over the irregular surface.

The crest of his family was stamped into the metal, had been done long past by some workman's hand, a jeweler or a smithy, he didn't know. Gibbs took out the flat metal plate that was in the bottom of the trunk, wrapped in protective cloth. He ran a finger over the names inscribed. Thirty three names. When he'd read the names as a child, memorized them, they hadn't meant anything to him, just names from the history of his Family. Now....

Taking the stylus that had been next to it, he carefully inscribed one more name. He lifted the plate and pressed it to his forehead. Letting himself think of what he was doing, had done, was planning to do. Asking for the blessing. Then he re-wrapped the plate and put it back into the trunk, letting the lid down carefully. 

He left carrying the thing he had come here to retrieve held tight in his hand.


	9. Chapter 9

Evangeline took Tony's arm as they entered the atrium. Under the white awning the long table was laden with food and flowers. Chairs pulled out waiting to have guests seated. Evangeline's slaves stood at the ready. A small lunch party, only four seats, one a cushioned, double seated bench at the head of the table. 

They were standing there, quiet, Tony looking around as if he hadn't eaten here dozens upon dozens of times before. Evangeline recognized he was a little in shock. She patted his arm, guiding him more than he was supporting her. There was a sound, sharp, harsh rhythmic, attention grabbing. An authoritative step, coming closer. Militarily precise, echoing from out in the hall.

The slaves stepped away from the entrance at the far end of the atrium. As they faded back from the opening a man came in. He was in full ceremonial uniform. The ancient uniform reserved for ritual Family occasions. Not public ones. Tony involuntarily moved back, then caught himself. 

Evangeline smiled internally. Good boy, she thought. Don't begin this courtship by backing down. Make him work for it, every thing that you give him, make him earn it. Make him know what it is worth.

Tacitus was intimidating. No question of that truth. He had impressive stature, and the hard, smooth, lean form of a warrior in fighting trim. He also had the yellow eyes of a predator, eyes she had never seen on any other member of his Family or the genetic line preceding him, nor on anyone else aside from his own three sons. A strange, yellow gaze that was more than capable of transfixing the recipient of his regard as if on the point of a sword. She had always liked it about him, that little bit of physical strangeness. He was handsome, sleek as a marble carving, sculpted of some slightly darker stone, a caramel color, slick, warm, there was nothing cool or cold about him. Tacitus was heat and fire and amber flame.

His breastplate shone bronze, the armored plates of his leather skirt flashed bright giving glimpses of extraordinary thighs, thighs no one in their right mind would object to being between or having between their own. His helmet, removed from his noble head, was under one arm, its tail-crest trailing long and black. As black as the seal smooth cap of razor-ed hair atop his head, too short to give an enemy a handhold, but dramatic, accentuating his features. Classically, sharply, handsomely, emphatically male. His tendons and muscles showed, deeply cut, the veins on the backs of his hands, trailing up his arms, full, the dusting of hair on his arms as black as that on his head. Hair that lay flat over forearms that were hard and corded, hands broad, strong and calloused. Then the corners of his full lipped mouth quirked up in a sly, impish smile.

Tony blinked. The tall man had to be "San" Tacitus. He was the right age and he looked like a soldier. Not a former soldier, but every cut inch, polished discipline smooth, a soldier ready to take the field...and yet his smile was that of a twelve year old boy about to do mischief. 

Just that fast, Tony found he couldn't resent him despite that he represented a barrier, an obstacle to overcome. He wanted to resent him because the man wanted to take him from Gibbs. Where Tony wanted to be more than anything. More than he wanted to have sex again, he wanted to feel Gibbs' hands on him, smacking the back of his head, or patting his shoulder, or washing him, or his feet against his belly, his own hands wrapped around those strong, bony ankles.

This Tacitus, this soldier, stood between Tony and his simple dream. Smiling. Six and a half feet of bronzed god, and the sweetest little troublemaker's grin, eyes twinkling with the promise of slightly naughty fun. Eyes flashing from under half drooped, blacker than black, spiky lashes.

Evangeline cleared her throat. "Be seated." She said, gracious to the man. "Tony, with me." And Tony sat beside her on the small settee, within her circle of protection. The message clear. Evangeline Gibbs was taking her role as protectoress and owner very seriously. No game, this. 

Tony lifted his head, moved with her to the double seat and sat. He owed her his loyalty, his full attention, his best behavior, not that she would tolerate any less. She did indulge him, had in the past treated him as a favored son and he did not doubt she loved him. But, he was smart enough to know this was different. This was Family business. She was doing this for him. For a slave. It wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't common either. His face stayed serene while his heart pounded in his chest.

Abruptly he looked down. He just wanted Gibbs here. He wanted to leave and to go home. To hide out in Gibbs' suite, working or reading, or...to be playing tennis, or basketball, sweating. With Gibbs. Or in the shower again, where he would have enough sense to wait for his master to make the first move. If it took a year, two or ten. 

He had stepped across the bounds of propriety, challenged his place, forgotten he was a slave for a fatal instant, and he had assaulted his master, taking what was not his to take. Made Gibbs the subordinate male. And it had been a disaster, even as subtle as that subordinate position had been, Gibbs had rejected him and his action, as was only right. Tony had not missed the shadowed look in Gibbs' eye, he had nearly been killed. By the hands he loved so well. He was jerked back to the present by Evangeline addressing him.

"Tony, this is is DiSantis Tacitus. Of the Tacitus branch of the Laurentis Family out of Rome. San, welcome to my home, you must forgive me for not extending an invitation sooner." They inclined heads at each other, like monarchs acknowledging one another. She inclined her head at Tony then. "This is Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs, a slave of my Family. Please introduce yourself." Evangeline sat like an Empress on the simple garden bench.

Tacitus stood for a moment unmoving as if giving Tony another chance to look at him, bowed, then lifted his chin, looking like an old history conqueror, fresh from a victory, proud, gleaming with the blessing of the gods victory on him. The flashes of sunlight winking through the dark green leaves seemed to find him as fascinating as if they were sentient. Lighting on his skin like a lover's skilled hand. He paced forward, nearer, nearer, more shockingly impressive with each predatory step.

"I am Tacitus." He announced. "First Centurion, serving in the Emperor's army in Europe, heir to the patriarch of the Tacitus Family and second heir to the Duchiny Family. Husband of Clemantine Huscar of the Williamsburg Family, father of Anthony Julius Tacitus, who is my heir, Adso my second son, Desicritus my third son, and Julia, my much adored, and most beautiful daughter, my youngest child. My worldly goods...." His voice was deep, pleasant, his odd eyes gleamed. The smile flashed again as he spoke of his children. He listed all of his properties, his worth, which rivaled those of the Gibbs Family, a net worth Tony was quite familiar with, as he helped to run Gibbs' household.

As was tradition, the list of the man's accomplishments followed. Tony only half listening, not really able to believe that he was here and this was happening. He felt like he was holding an audition. And in a way he was. 

"..and I am here to Court Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs, with your permission and leave." His eyes meeting Evangeline's, the man concluded his list of qualifications. Proudly. Waiting and watching as Evangeline considered what he had said, his worth and what he might offer Tony. To his surprise, Tony realized she was indeed evaluating every word against what she had already researched, he supposed. And measuring the man, his presence and his delivery of his courting address. Finally she drew in a breath, slightly deeper than the ones she had taken while ruminating.

"We accept your petition to Court our slave." She said, formally. "You may approach."

Tacitus came around the table. His step deliberate. Lithe, vigorous, handsome, rich as a king, and a good five years younger than Gibbs if not more. His white teeth flashed as he came nearer, his yellow eyes intent on Tony's panicked blue.

San Tacitus went to his knees as if it was no hardship, graceful, as if he were paying tribute in a temple, before an altar dedicated to Apollo. A dedication which required the greatest beauty, the deepest conviction.

"Anthony." He said quietly, addressing Tony, who was sitting very still."Please accept this token of my regard and my intention." 

And he reached up to place his seal around Tony's neck. Tony looked down at it. It was so very rare, this seal, bearing the seal of a Landed Family, a Noble Family. Offered to only to the men asked to serve as Consort to the patriarch or to the heir of a Family.

Tony ran a finger over the plain, unlovely metal. It's value was not in what it was made of. A jeweled piece of glittering diamonds or rubies or other precious stones could not come close to the worth of this bit of worn relic. No one would trade for it, nor could trade for it. It was priceless. It was the honor of the Family of Tacitus. Placed reverently around his neck. And Tony was not able to dismiss or discount it. It was not ever casually given. He raised his eyes from the artifact laying on his chest.

Tacitus was watching him, still on his knees. His hands had laced the disc around Tony's neck, taking no liberties, not teasing, though his eyes had the shine of a man who knew in his soul how to laugh, just now he was dead serious. Now he asked for a very important thing. He asked for Tony to accept his pledge and his vow, his intent to court, to perhaps make him Slave Consort of one of the greater Families in America. His promise not to dishonor him, nor to mislead, or toy with him. He asked now, without words, if Tony would treat this with all the reverent dignity it deserved.

Tony slowly raised the rectangular disc to his lips and kissed it. "I am honored and willing to be Courted." He managed to get out through his tightened throat, a strangled whisper, but heard.

"I can ask no more than the chance to prove myself to you." Tacitus returned, quietly, his yellow eyes warm. He held out his hand.

"Mother, San, Tony." Gibbs voice cut through the tableau as Tony's hand twitched, as he tried to lift it, compel it to reach out and take the hand of the man who was kneeling in front of him. He stared up at Gibbs instead.

Gibbs, resplendent in his own ceremonial garb strode into the atrium to join them, sword buckled at his hip, his left hand a fist at his side. Tony could not see the other, tucked behind the curve of the helmet he carried. 

The uniform flattered Gibbs far more than modern clothes, though he was handsome enough in them. In this uniform he was a vision out of the past, barbaric, yet also civilized, a reflection of the origins of greatest empire of the world today, of any day.

His legs were strong, sturdy, muscular, his arms the same, bared, taut, his neck a strong column, his face sternly beautiful. Tony would not call him merely handsome. To him, Gibbs was beautiful, the weathered face, the silvering hair, his carriage, his shoulders, his presence, those hard hands. Tony watched him advance. Tacitus rose smoothly to his feet. Placing himself in a more advantageous position than he had as a supplicant on his knees.

Tall as he was, handsome as he was, Gibbs was his shorter equal. They looked at each other, assessing, asking and answering silent questions. Gibbs was the first to nod. Tacitus nodded back, then they turned to face Evangeline and Tony as they sat on the bench. 

Tony could sense the satisfaction in the woman sitting next to him. She was pleased. Tony wasn't sure why. He felt a rising anxiety. How was he supposed to respond to this, to having Gibbs here, like this? He didn't want him to witness any of it. To have Gibbs watch him being wooed, Tony dropped his gaze, but only for a second. He didn't want to risk missing anything.

Gibbs set his helmet next to Tacitus'. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, Tacitus mirroring the move in exact synchrony. Tony felt the blood drain from his face. Were they going to fight? Here? In front of him? Now, when he couldn't place himself at Gibbs back? Where honor forbid him to stand every bit as much as his soul cried out for him to be as his side, defending him. He could not watch Gibbs cut down, injured in a fight over him. He could not. He opened his mouth. He would beg, plead...

Evangeline's hand clapped down on his leg, squeezing hard, with a power, a command, he was not aware she possessed. He was held, pinned to the seat, shock and no little pain rippling through him, as she spoke in her cool, precise diction.

"This is Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs, a slave of my Family. Please introduce yourself." She said formally into the charged silence. Gazing into the face of her son and heir.

"I am Leroy Jethro Gibbs...." Gibbs began.

Tony's next breath was a smothered sob.


	10. Chapter 10

Jen Sheppard had been hurt, then angry that Jethro had not told her he was being given a week's medical leave. She had to find it out from the paper work, duly signed by Dr Mallard, that the personnel department had sent out. It landed on her desk with a thud that surely she had only imagined. She had glowered at the world for the rest of the day, hating hiding the fact she hadn't known, that Jethro hadn't come to her, hadn't delivered it to her himself. Nor had he phoned to let her know. 

He was already gone, hours gone, when she'd looked for him. That had made her flush with embarrassment, as McGee looked at her, his oddly innocent face making her feel bare. His expression hid nothing. He was wondering why Gibbs hadn't told his fiancee that he was leaving. But he had told his team, each one of them, in person. Even McGee. Jen had been reduced to stalking off, no words coming to her lips to salve her pride.

The next day a further request arrived on her desk, this one for extended leave, for Family reasons. She had little choice but to approve that one. For a yet undetermined length of time. No details given. No phone call, no explanation. Nothing. The only good thing, there was no request to dissolve the engagement. She still had him, a tiny part of him, and she was determined to hang onto that with both hands and feet.

Then, when he had not called her in two days, she had called him at his estate, why shouldn't she after all, as they were promised. Only to discover he was not available, he was out on some Family business, the details once more not offered to her, despite her subtle hints that she would like to know. Gritting her teeth, she had asked to speak to Tony, who surely did know what she did not, a thing that burned her gut to ashes. And learned Tony was also gone. On the same Family business, presumably. So, in desperation Jen had called the estate of Evangeline Gibbs. Her future mother in law.

Evangeline was home, but occupied by Family business that could not be interrupted. The slave who answered was firm, Sebastian was his name, and Jen remembered him, tall, bulky, stern, despite being a young man still. She knew instinctively it was a waste of time pushing for more information. 

Jen seethed for half a day. Then made her decision. She was soon to be family. Thus she should be aware of Gibbs Family business that was important enough to occupy both matriarch and heir. She collected her purse, set her jaw, and left NCIS several hours early, her desk full of business she should have addressed first. But her mind was not on work. Any work she did would only need re-doing later.

Evangeline's slaves admitted her into the warm atrium, and further into a small, quiet salon. Knowing she was the heir's fiancee, they humored her, seated her and brought her refreshments, steadfastly refusing to answer any of her increasingly pointed questions. Finally they backed out, bowing politely, with an excess of diplomatic skill and left her alone, promising to notify the matriarch as soon as they were permitted.

"My father is going to marry you." The child's voice jolted her out of her reverie.

She recognized the adorable face of Gibbs' young son. Round and childish, a pure, clear, creamy brown complexion that was breathtaking. His blue eyes so like those of his father, his black hair so different. Gabriel was his name, she reminded herself. Gabriel who should have been in his school at this time of year, not at home. She froze, the rim of her tea cup at her lips, her eyes fastened on the boy.

"Yes," she replied, hiding her surprise, wondering if he knew anything of the business going on, and how to induce him into telling her. "We are going to be married." The boy knew of it. Good. He was a lovely child, soon to be her step-son. And more immediately a source of information. He looked at her shyly, a small smile flickering. He stayed back from her, watching her with an awareness that reminded her sharply of Gibbs.

The realization that Gabriel was home at such an un-timely time actually made her relax a fraction. The Family trouble had to be Gabriel. Perhaps he had been expelled, suspended, or failed a class. Got into a scuffle with another child. Something trite, nothing to do with her or her future marriage. Nothing like mother and son plotting together to withdraw the proposal and make her look at fault. Just a problem with Gibbs' son. 

She drew in a breath of relief. Gibbs did nothing by halves, if his son was in trouble, even minor trouble, he'd certainly drop everything to take care of the child. After all he visited him at school with credible, perhaps too great frequency. She'd heard talk at how the staff always had to be on their toes because of his unannounced visits. Other parents arranged visits, allowed time for the staff to arrange appropriate receptions, but not Gibbs. He appeared with terrifying randomness. The one point that seemed to make it all right with the exasperated school administration...Gabriel's reaction. 

He loved his father. He ran squealing down the corridors with such honest joy and devotion, no one who cared for the boy, or any child for that matter, could stand to make a protest and stop the visits. If indeed Gibbs would have allowed himself to be swayed. Which was unlikely. Protest simply would have earned a cold eye, a frigid reception, and no change at all in Gibbs' pattern.

Jen absolutely ached to see Jethro, to throw her arms around him, to have him back in her bed. She missed that part of their relationship. Gibbs making love to her, his attention focused entirely on her. He had been such a good lover, and it had been good to be held, even if he never stayed the night through with her. Always leaving in the early hours and going back to his estate, to his slave. 

Her lip curled. Tony. It always came down to him. Tony would have to go. She would wait until after the vows, after she and Gibbs got used to being married. Past the point where a petition of dissolution could be asked for, unless Gibbs wanted a formal divorce again. 

He had lamented his divorce. Let her know he had hated it. She would use that if she had to. But hopefully, once they became used to being husband and wife....he would want her and need her enough to listen to her when she spoke to him about Tony. Then she'd see Tony was sold off. It was ridiculous that he had cost the Gibbs Family so much money in the first place. Now, his very presence might cost her the chance at a happy marriage with Gibbs.

"Why is he marrying you if he is courting Tony?" The boy asked innocently, a frown wrinkling his smooth brow. He was still in the wide doorway, his hand clutching a small, real metal sword. She shuddered at the glint of the steel. Children, even the children of First Centurions shouldn't carry real weapons.

"What?" She asked, sure he hadn't asked her what she thought he had. Glad that he'd not come closer, not with that gleaming sword. Not with the sudden fury that ripped through her like acid.

"I got to come home from school because dad is courting Tony." He said again. His face was curious, his brilliant eyes surrounded with more dark lashes than any woman's she'd seen. Adorable. Armed. Waiting for her to explain it to him. Why Gibbs was marrying her and planning to take Tony as his Consort. 

"Is it OK to do both?" The child asked, his great, bright eyes watching her earnestly, expecting her to answer, expecting the truth from her. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Nothing, not one word.

No it wasn't OK to do both. Not in Jen Sheppard's world. It was legal. It was sanctioned. It was accepted practice, condoned. But, it was not acceptable to her. The wife would take second place to the Consort. Even a Slave Consort. She would be second to a slave. Tony would have the position she should have, the place she wanted and had earned. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Sheppard lurched to her feet, taking one step towards the boy, intending to grip his shoulders, stare him down, and demand to know where her fiancee was. But the first step brought a vast figure into sight from where she had been standing off to one side, hidden. The slave's eyes left no doubt as to what methods she would employ to keep her charge safe. Her stern face fierce.

Jen spun on her heel and stalked out of the salon, through the atrium, and out into the drive. She climbed back into her car, signaling her driver to take her home. She sat, fuming with rage in the backseat. Her mind filled with murder.

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Gibbs wasn't one to dwell on the past so much. But this one little detail was haunting him. Tacitus. Formerly one of his soldiers. One of his officers. His comrade in arms. One of the rare men he'd shared a battle kiss with. Before going into the Ridge of Manion conflict fifteen years ago. What happened those nights, between men who might die the next sunrise, it was private, it was never spoken of. It was sacred. 

But it was in in Jethro's mind, more vivid than any movie. He could hear it, feel it, taste it, remember it. The feel of those lips, the strong flesh of his tongue, the sweat-scent that filled his nostrils then as now, the sound, grunting, gasping, the cries of passion, of men preparing to face death seeking a last moment of life affirming sex and contact with a warm body. 

Gibbs saw in his mind's eye the line of the larger man's throat bent and turned to the side to keep his mouth pressed to Gibbs'. Gibbs curious, but far less interested, wanting distraction, wanting contact, but not wanting more than that. Tacitus moaning, writhing against him, though Gibbs wasn't nearly as aroused, he wasn't unaffected. He admitted it. Tacitus had charm about him, he was a visceral being, hot and sexy, passionate. Gibbs had been hard, and if Tacitus had been a woman, he'd have fucked him. But Tacitus was a man, a big man, he smelled like a man, kissed like a man, the rasp of his face, unshaved...everything was masculine, harder that Gibbs liked. He could kiss, he could suck face, he could let the man rub against him, jerk off, but Gibbs wouldn't fuck him.

The memory of it, the time they'd shared in that tent, distracted him now. He shook his head. Looked into the yellow eyes, seeing Tacitus remembered the same night, in a far different light. Tacitus remembered it with heat, with want. Unlike Gibbs, Tacitus wouldn't mind a repeat, maybe right here on this floor. The corners of his mouth turned up, his eyes went almost slanted, as he looked over at his rival, at Gibbs. The man was trouble. Pure trouble. Gibbs glared back. 

A gods be damned fine soldier, but trouble any other way. Gibbs recalled that wolfish grin just before San pulled on his helmet and lifted his chin, howling at the sky. It had been a thrill, the night of listening to San groaning and twisting in his arms. Even if Gibbs couldn't quite get off, he'd gotten hard, just the feel of skin, supple young flesh, brimming with life and heat was enough to do that the eve before a battle. Listening to the younger man pleasuring himself with his hand, the other arm wrapped like a hard, immovable bar behind Gibbs' head...kissing, kissing. 

But Gibbs had stopped him when Tacitus made to jerk him off in turn. Gibbs didn't want that. He'd honored the other man's request, he'd have had to have a damn good reason to refuse such a request from a man who's fighting skills and honor he respected, but he wanted it to be only a battle exchange, not a romance. Gibbs didn't go that way, and Tacitus was made to understand that.

Gibbs growled. Fuck that. Fuck the past. He was here to court and win Tony. Fuck Tacitus. He already knew he wasn't a match for the man in terms of sheer physical strength. But he was far more devious, and in this competition...there were no holds barred, being devious might win. 

He saw a slave enter the room, bend down and speak to his mother. She barely acknowledged the message, and the slave slipped out without any other word exchanged. Evangeline nodded her head, reaching out and striking the small brass gong that sat beside her. Its rich, hollow tone filled the room and beyond, calling, calling, empty, calling out to have the room filled. Shadows moved behind the screen that sheltered the cove where Tony was.

Gibbs was turning all his attention onto the task now. He watched the archway to the small area where Tony had disappeared half an hour ago. Now was the time. A movement, right on time as the last notes of the gong faded. 

Tony stepped back into view. He wore a simple blood red dressing gown, which he held closed at the throat with one hand, his knuckles, his hand gleaming palely. His hair was wet, dark, combed back, damply curling, just as Gibbs memory reminded him. Beautiful. His classically handsome features set off even more with the distraction of his hair out of the way. His eyes were huge, luminous pits, their color lost in the dim light. He was beautiful, just as obviously nude under the wrap where it fit to the lingering dampness of his skin.

Tony walked slowly to the center of the room, across the warm colored red-brown polished tile. His passage left foot prints in steam, prints that faded and vanished seconds after his feet made them, evaporating into nothing, like tiny ghosts. Three long steps up, the muscles of his thighs bunching against the skirt of the robe, and he had mounted to the top of the pedestal. The lamps were dimmed, old fashioned wick and perfumed oil lamps that filled the room with the scent of almonds, vanilla and hot cinnamon.

Tony stood there at the top of the stand, his gaze off in the distance, not looking around, not looking down, or at the matriarch who watched it all, silent in her chair, her face hard, solemn, absolutely serious. Gibbs and Tacitus may well have not been there, Tony never glanced towards either of them. Tony let go of the robe, his hands lifting away, the robe shimmering, losening, Gibbs couldn't look away....then...

Gibbs heard Tacitus catch his breath, a sound of want. He turned his head to catch the look on the other man's face. Then he wished he hadn't. Maybe it was lust, how could it be anything more? Tacitus couldn't love anyone he didn't know, not real love....well whatever it was...it was powerful.

The handsome face gazing up at Tony was rapt. The longing therein was almost painful to see. It transformed a handsome face into one of god-like intensity, of deep, aching woship, desire that would transcend any obstacle. His eyes, no longer yellow gleamed like warm, stirred honey in the lamplight, glowing brighter and brighter as one by one the lamps were snuffed. Until the only light remaining shone onto Tony, the light touching him with soft caress, like a lover's mesmerized hand. His skin shining, his chest, his belly, the sparkling dark blonde hair at his groin, his genitals peeking from between the folds of the crimson silk, the glint of the golden chain, all of it breathtaking. And the light grew in Tacitus' eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Tony let the robe fall from his shoulders, his arms going back, the fabric gliding down in a ripple of fine whispering silk to puddle around his feet. He stood there, lit like a statue wrought of the finest living stone, a pale study in cream and gold and tan, his chest barely rising with his breath. The shadows underlining his curves and deepening the hollows grew, his ass...god his ass....the deep carved sculpture of his pelvis, Gibbs swallowed. 

Gibbs let out a small sound, heard it echoed a few feet away, by Tacitus' deep rumble. How had he missed this? His Tony was...so damn beautiful. He'd had him at the foot of his bed for years...he had had this within arm's reach for that long, his to take as he desired and he'd never taken it. He'd punished Tony for offering it, this bounty to him, that day in the shower, he could have had it then. Christos, he was an imbicile to refuse. Because Tony was a man. It was the worst damn reason to have refrained he could think of.

The sound of armor hitting the floor shocked Gibbs out of his reverie. Tacitus was already out of his breastplate and was working on his greaves, the front of his tunic tented with his generous erection bobbing as he attacked the buckles of his armor. Gibbs stared for one shocked second, knowing that Tacitus wanted Tony that way, sexually, that he wanted him so powerfully he was not able to control it. They would be stunning together. Tacitus and Tony. Together they would turn heads in a way Gibbs never could. 

Gibbs let out a low growl at the uselessness of his observation and at the sense of loss that had filled him, then he rushed to catch up. Tacitus, handsome and regal or not, he hadn't won Tony, not yet. Gibbs wasn't going to let him either. Tacitus was not going to win. Not if Leroy Jethro Gibbs had anything to say about it. 

Their swords hit their respective piles of discarded clothing and armor at the same instant. Sandals, tunics, under wraps. They were as bare as Tony as they advanced on each other, oiled skin glowing. Meeting with a smack of determined flesh under the slave's gaze at the foot of his pedestal. His eyes finally coming to rest on them as they struggled at his feet.

They fell on each other like wolves.


	11. Chapter 11

Gibbs' grin was broad, bristling with feral anticipation. The one that reflected from his opponent was more of the same, a cheerful, deliberate madness. His blood raced as they grinned at each other, pacing around in a circle, stalking. He hadn't fought like this in too long. Two men engaged in brutal combat, hands and blood and sweat, even tears running down their bodies as they wrestled and fought. Heaving each other side to side, grappling body to body. The impacts of flesh to flesh the grunts and barks of exertion the only sounds.

He took the larger man down with a devastating twist of his hips, slamming him to the floor with a smack of flesh meeting tiles. Tacitus falling with ease. Not hurt, no, it wasn't that kind of fight. But to show the man they were courting what they were capable of. 

Gibbs and San, both warriors, both experienced, both formidable. Showing Tony every trick they had, every blow, every move, all of it fast, hard, and deadly if they'd wished. Tacitus a bit more flashy, Gibbs a bit more frightening, more directly lethal. Both would have been ten times dead within a few minutes of the beginning if they'd desired it, if it had been a contest to the death. Some moves had no counter, nothing to stop them if it had been their intent to kill or to cripple.

They snarled happily, blood singing in their veins, wild in their ears, flushing their faces, fingers clawing hooks, hair standing on end, nipples tight and hard, genitals heavy, swaying, full, half hard, their hands slipping over the slick skin, seeking the right holds. 

They had fought for Emperor and Empire, for Citizen and kingdom. Now they fought for one man, in this near silent arena, with no other audience but a silent witness, no other purpose, but with all the sincerity they'd have brought to the grandest battle for king and country. They fought for the hand, heart and body of one.

Tony's eyes were no longer fixed on the distance, he watched them, aghast. It wasn't that he was unaware of the skills his boss and master had, nor was he surprised that Tacitus was impressive when it came to the fight, it was he'd never seen fighters at this level of skill in action. He was far younger and even stronger than Gibbs, yet... He'd known of course he wasn't a match for him, but he'd thought they were more equal that this. He was learning different. Gibbs was so much more than he'd known, a gleaming naked weapon, an edged weapon, a blunt instrument, a human knife, cudgel and sword.

San Tacitus was huge, fierce and glorious to look at. Gibbs quick and harsher to the eye, handsome but clearly not such a work of wondrous sculptor's art. Yet...he glowed with such a joy of exertion, of breathtaking prowess, power and fatality, that Tony was spell bound.

Nothing was wasted, no action unneeded, no reaction excessive. It was efficiency at its most direct. San Tacitus, large and lovely, heart pounding-ly gorgeous was still somehow less than the smaller, older man he grappled with. Though Tony could have watched him for hours in rapt worship, Gibbs made him look younger, less trained, less fearsome. Gibbs was gliding, concise, pure, clear, deadly motion. 

Tony held his breath as Tacitus lifted Gibbs all the way off of his feet, up into the air, his chest flexed, his biceps straining, full, the sweat pouring off of both, down the sides of his magnificent body. Gibbs arched, a subtle, sweet curve of limb and torso, and he was down, slithering down San's back to the floor, braced, landing lightly, swiftly pivoting, and again, he had the other man on his back, laughing. Joyous.

Gibbs was laughing, and San joining in even as he flipped onto his belly and darted to grab Gibbs' legs, bringing him down as well. Tony gaped. They were taking this seriously, the skill and the fury of their attacks could not be disputed. But it wasn't malicious, they weren't going to harm each other. They were honestly having fun fighting and showing him every secret, every sinew, every thing they had to give him. How they would protect him, fight for him, beyond hiring the slaves and guards they could well afford to keep him safe. No one could fight past either of these two men to take him.

The display of testosterone flurried across the floor, sometimes leaping, more of that from San than Gibbs, sometimes on their hard braced feet, and often on the floor, where Gibbs really excelled, much to Tony's surprise. Tony had always known Gibbs could do this, fight like this, that he was a soldier, a First Centurion. But seeing the reality was so much more than he had comprehended. So much more.

Straining and grunting, flinging hair, droplets of sweat flying across the room, some spattering on Tony's feet and legs, some of the wet drops, blood that ran slowly down his skin onto the pedestal. He couldn't turn his eyes away, he watched them.

Evangeline had never seen the like. She was a matriarch of many years. But never in all that time had she seen a display like this. Of military might and training, training that was closely guarded, a purely masculine and martial reserve, not shown off casually, not displayed but on the battlefield in the service of their Emperor. 

Killers. Her son was a killer. Through and through he was a killer, a soldier. A death dealer. An efficient way to eliminate the enemies of his ruler. But he made it so beautiful, what he was and what he could do. She was stunned at the deep, pulling, belly clenching beauty of her own son, of his grace and his skill. And San, so lovely that boy. So grand and larger more obviously intimidating. And her son was a match for him. In endurance, in cunning, in wit, and in fighting. Fighting wasn't only brute force against brute force. It was other forms of strength as well. And Gibbs had all of them. 

Evangeline looked up at Tony on his stand as he posed bare and glorious, his hair drying wavy around his face, a dark gold in the lamp's glow, his gaze fixed on the incredible sight below him. His face was shocked, his breath rapid, his mouth parted, his chest working as he leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. His eyes, dark blue and reflecting the flames of the lamps, wide. Yes. This was her Tony, coming back to himself, coming back to her, to her son, to them. 

She lifted the tiny mallet and struck the gong, her heart bursting with pride. The sound filled the area, and as it did, Gibbs and Tacitus fell apart, to lay on their backs, side by side, exultant, beaming, having given Tony a gift in letting him see this. But also they had given each other a thing that sang with masculine vigor and understanding. 

They might be rivals, fighting for something only one could win, but they were also men who had a perfect understanding between them, a rare and difficult thing. To be valued and treasured. They were both warriors. First Centurions. No one but another of the rare men could have understood what they had just shown to the man they courted, to the matriarch of the Family who owned him.

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The trip to the bathing rooms was leisurely, three men trailing each other in companionable silence, the bath that followed even more so. Tacitus sat at the edge of the pool, sinking down until his long arms stretched along the sides. Gibbs across from him, the steam rising hot from the waters in white gouts, sighed. Tony moved between them.

He sluiced water over them with a plain wooden dipper, again and again, drenching them with heated water, splashing the tiles around the pool without care. He tended to them, first one then the other, wet, scrubbed, relaxed. He rinsed them with dippers full of cooler water, the contrast in temperature welcome as they rested, sipping fresh spring water he poured for them, cool, dilute, exotic juices afterward.

They had gifted him the ultimate display of their physical prowess. It was his turn to do something for them. He showed them that he appreciated what they had done for him. That he recognized it was an honor to see it, that he valued that honor. A thing never done for exhibition, or in public. He knew it and he showed them he knew it. They relaxed when they saw his sincerity, his acknowledgment.

The fight flashed in repeated scenes through his consciousness, teasing him with the glimpses of their bodies together. Male. Hard. Fierce. Force meeting force. The visual art of seeing the bodies, prime males, trained to do exactly what they had done. He loved the vision of it. It wouldn't leave him alone. It wasn't a matter of him liking the form of one over the other, it was that together they had done it for him. Alone, one of them going through the moves, he wouldn't have seen the fullness of it, the entirety of what they were trained to be, were capable of. 

Why deny that seeing them grappling had been breathtaking. He wished to see them together in some way again. The idea pumped blood into his genitals, filling him to semi hard. What they'd done for him had been sexual in a profoundly different way than mating. There had been an undercurrent of awareness, blatantly physical. Contesting, primal, deeply buried rivalry from the first time that any two male beasts had fought over a female, a mate, territory, or for the sheer male need to feel the tearing joy of victory, the need to gulp hot blood of a vanquished opponent. That same feel echoed during their bout, bodies slamming and writhing like a very different kind of battle, the grunts, groans and sighs raising Tony's skin in rivers of goose-flesh.

Gently he took one of the huge, calloused hands in his own and guided Tacitus away from the edge and to the platform below the water's top, laying the man down, head elevated above the surface, the rest of him below, the water shimmering over tanned skin. 

With his hands he washed the body that he had seen fighting for him. Felt those great limbs and fine skin, exertion heavy muscles, the old and new scars ridges against his palms as he bent to the task. Tacitus lay quietly under his ministrations. His yellow eyes on Tony's face. He moved and turned and enjoyed the touch, shifting at the slave's bidding. 

It was strange touching another man like this again. Another man aside from Gibbs, Tony corrected himself. When he'd first come to the Gibbs household he'd taken male lovers. Other slaves, being forbidden the females of the household. No chances were taken with pregnancy. Slaves were encouraged to form liaisons with members of their own gender. A far cry form Tony's life before being sold off to cover his Family's debts. He'd been handsome, sexy, a flirt, a lady's man. Becoming a slave turned his whole world 180 degrees.

Taking his first male partner was a learning experience. And not bad, but not what he was used to. An acquired taste. Still he found it had its unique pleasures. And he liked how it made him feel. He did miss women, though. Thought of them often with a lonely nostalgia. Until he'd fallen in love with Gibbs. He took an occasional lover after that monumental realization, but none for long and women were no longer on his mind at all. He couldn't touch a woman's softness and pretend, or fantasize that some day Gibbs might touch him that way. 

Tony hadn't had anyone at all for several months before the chain. And none since. He missed sex, he admitted it. But if it was the price of being with Gibbs.... Being with Gibbs was a worthy compensation, now he didn't even have that. He looked at the splendid form of the man laying quiescent in front of him, laid out like a pagan sacrificial offering, huge, powerful, watching him with burning hot eyes.

Tacitus was easily the most sensual being he'd ever met. All of him, his body and his being, focused and accepting of the erotic experience, his awareness of sex, of Tony himself, shone out of him. He was charismatic, a seduction, his body hard seconds after Tony's first touch on his shoulder. Impossible to miss, cutting up out of the water like a blade, the water trembling around the rigid length of him. The desire was in his eyes. Burning there. It was in his every breath. In the way his body thrummed to Tony's touch. Called to him in a urgent, pleading, whispering voice floating over his skin without a word. 

Tony hesitated before the erection that jutted out from the strong hips. His hand hovered, then fell on the hot column, unable to resist. The eyes on him flared gold, and closed for a agonized second, lips parting, as San drew in a sharp, quick breath that turned into a rumbling moan of approval. Tony moved his hand, feeling all of it, the hard hot silken flesh in his grasp. The pulse of blood shuddering through, causing the organ to leap in his hand. Just that quickly Tony was completely hard, he was needy, his pelvis melting with the want of it. 

He knew what it would feel like, be like, to have this in him. He knew it would be good. It would be good to have the strong arms around him, his legs around the hard curve of hip, his heels at the man's back, digging in, the low hanging balls slapping his butt as the man took him. He could almost feel it, the entry, slow and wet, his body slicked, stretched, aching to be full. Tacitus was larger in every way than any of his past lovers. He would be that much more to take. Tony shivered imagining it, the weight of the man laying over him...pressing into him...demanding to be welcomed, coaxing, as Tony strained to take him.

Tony let out a tiny moan, urgent and begging. His cock strained against its imprisoning chain, trapped but hard, eager. Needing. His hand was filled to overflowing, the hot flesh surging in his grip, he shifted his hold, gave in to the want, moving his hand up and down the flesh he cradled. It was almost too much to turn his attention away, to look over to where Gibbs sat. Watching him. 

Tony moaned again, holding out his free hand, it being impossible for him to let Tacitus go. His hand unwilling. Gibbs came to him, unhesitating, taking his hand, coming up against Tony's side, citing their bodies close. Tony held him hard, his face buried in the older man's neck. Gibbs' hands rose, sinking into Tony's hair, holding their faces cheek against neck, stroking through the strands of silky hair.

After a moment Tony eased back, urging Gibbs down onto the slab next to Tacitus. Gibbs resisted, his eyes flying up to Tony's in a moment of questioning. Then he surrendered, laying beside the larger man, the lack of room making both shift to lay side to side, facing each other. Neither willing to turn his back to the other. Tony gazed at them. 

His hands did what they had wanted to do all along. He petted them. Taking no measurements for comparison, simply enjoying them. The feel of all that magnificence under his hands. With no restriction on what he could do, what he could touch. He stroked them, while they warily watched each other, Gibbs blue eyes gone sharp, sending out a warning, Tacitus' calculating, with an undertone of wry amusement. Tacitus had not lost any of his erection, it poked into Gibbs' thigh unabashedly. Gibbs staying stubbornly soft.

Tony's fingers wandered, reaching up to run across the surprisingly soft mouth of his master, and then to the fuller lips of Tacitus. And back. Tacitus raised a brow, looking directly into Gibbs' eyes. Tony wasn't paying much attention, he was immersed in the experience. Having the freedom to touch, encouraged to touch. He licked his own lips. Touched Gibbs' mouth, his fingers gentle, then Tacitus'. 

Gibbs stared into the eyes of his rival, a man who had once been his subordinate, then his battle partner, still a friend, feeling an odd echo of memory, as if transported back to the once shared battle kiss. 

Gibbs wasn't really all that into it then or now. But he could also see it was what was on Tony's mind, and certainly emphatically on San's. Tony, after seeing him and San fight was imagining other things, other fleshly battle less fatal. That was fine, not surprising in fact. Many women got hot seeing men fight, do battle. Some even aroused by bloodshed itself. Gibbs as a rule avoided those women. But this was not a woman, it was Tony, who he'd shed blood for in the past, and who had done the same for him. 

Tacitus gazed back at him, still amused not going to be the one who refuse, and Gibbs shrugged inwardly, thinking, fuck it. And when San leaned forward, a knowing smile faint on his lovely mouth, Gibbs made no move to avoid the contact, their lips coming together, Tony's fingers between them.

Tony gasped, his eyes going wide as his fingers were licked, nibbled and sucked. He leaned forward, almost falling onto the two men, catching himself with his outstretched hand on the platform only just in time. At first it was only Tacitus who's agile tongue slicked over his fingers, curling over knuckles, then Gibbs joined in, far tamer, but the shock of having Gibbs suckle him tore through Tony like nothing else. 

He whimpered, both sets of eyes turning towards him, giving up the stare-down they had been trying to continue as they kissed. They watched him as he shuddered, bent over them, his fingers buried between their mouths, their teeth scraping over his sensitive skin, his flesh hot and metallic on their taste buds from the minerals in the water.

Tony moaned again, his hips jerking forward, his head swimming as the oral teasing continued. Gibbs reached an arm around him to steady him, but Tony didn't seem to notice. He was erect, and Gibbs felt it, the chain contrasting with the smooth heat of the skin as Tony groaned and pressed it into his leg. Gibbs fought not to instinctively push Tacitus away, not to give up the partial kiss that was inflaming Tony.

It was only seconds later when Tony's full weight was on them, somewhat awkwardly trying to find a good position on the narrow platform, until he settled with his thighs around their waists, his legs spread, his mouth seeking theirs. It wasn't easy, a three way kiss in this position, Tony heavy on them, straining to reach their mouths with his. 

Their tongues touched. Gibbs knew the difference at once, though he'd never kissed Tony like this. The taste, the feel it was all Tony. The scent of him, even washed so well and thoroughly was unmistakable. The kiss with Tacitus was one thing...the kiss with Tony quite another, even shared. 

They lazily devoured each other, all three, a confusion of tongues and tastes. Then unexpectedly Tony reared up, gasping, his eyes wide, his mouth open, neck arched, sobbing. And Gibbs felt it, the jet of Tony's seed against his own skin. He stared at the vision, the face of Tony orgasmic, spell bound, feeling the rush of blood filling his own cock, pounding blood in his ears as he watched it, only seconds of it, but it seemed longer. 

Until Tony fell half between them. Gibbs holding him, Tacitus cradling him from behind. Again a shared look, rival to rival. Tacitus smiling hugely, teeth gleaming white, Gibbs bewildered, disconcerted. Trying to find some way to deal with the fact that Tony had come on him. And that that had made him hard, feeling it happen, seeing it. The sound of it, the groan, the tremors. 

He dug his fingers into Tony's back, holding tight, Tacitus's belly against the back of his hands. Tony lay limp in his arms, his breath still irregular, quick, recovering from the surge of emotion more than physically. Gibbs examined his face minutely. Seeing what he'd missed all the years they'd been together as master and slave, friends. 

Asking himself how he was going to deal with what was unexpectedly one of the most profound experiences of his life if he lost this contest. If he lost Tony. He hugged him carefully, not giving in to the urge to squeeze ever tighter and never let go.


	12. Chapter 12

Jen Sheppard wiped the remnants of tears from her face. She sipped from the tumbler of amber liquid she had in her hand.

Today she'd heard it from someone else as she washed her hands at the sink in the ladies room. It wasn't a secret anymore. She felt people looking at her, heard the murmurs of sympathy. People, women mostly, feeling sorry for her. Men, envious of Gibbs. It seemed that Tony was rather admired by many of them, wanted. They thought Gibbs was lucky.

Jen felt a fresh torrent of tears slide down her face. She couldn't bear this. Jethro had asked her to be his wife. He had wanted her. Until Tony made a play for him. Seduced him. Wouldn't let him go, not even to find happiness in her arms. 

Listening to the talk about the slave was enlightening. It helped her to understand. He was the seducer. He somehow charmed men into desiring him. When it became clear that she was going to take his place in Jethro's life, the slave had plotted his revenge. He had taken advantage of the fact Gibbs trusted him. He had seduced him. Now Gibbs wasn't sure what he wanted. He was confused. And she couldn't reach him in time to help.

Evangeline Gibbs had to have something to do with it. An old woman, a young male slave. Clearly he had charmed her as well. Perhaps in bed. She'd heard rumors of such things. Now Jethro was embroiled in a fight for Tony. A competition. With only one outcome. Jen was sure Gibbs would win the competition. Tony would choose him, as he'd planned from the beginning. And she would have to accept the troublemaker as her equal, her..superior in many eyes, seated in the seat that rightly belonged to a wife. As the Slave Consort of the Gibbs Family, he would make her own life unlivable. Where he would flit between the bed of the matriarch and the heir. Where he would usurp her husband.

She let out a broken sob. Her reputation would be ruined. Everyone would think Gibbs had wanted Tony more than he wanted her. They'd never believe that he loved her, wanted her. Because of some ancient rite, some ridiculous ceremony, and the historical holdover rank that put Tony above the place of a legitimate wife....Tony would have what was hers. They would believe Gibbs loved Tony. Not her.

She stood, hurling the heavy cut crystal tumbler at the wall, flinching as it shattered into a thousand pieces. She couldn't afford to let this happen. She had to take action.

Sniffling she stared off into space. A plan forming in her mind. Tony had to be eliminated. It was the only way to save Gibbs. And it was up to her to do it. Everyone else was blinded to what was happening.

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Tony sat on his cushion, Tacitus and Gibbs to each side of him. He tore off a piece of the flatbread, rolled it tightly and dipped it into one of several bowls of spreads. Then he lifted it towards the taller of the men.

Tacitus opened his mouth, taking the food from the slave's hand. His lips brushing delicately over the tips of Tony's fingers. Tony shivered. His belly was tight, twitching. Tacitus was not doing anything blatant, overt, but the look in his eyes....it made him shiver.

Tony was seated naked, only a single fold of silk cast across his loins, barely covering his groin. It was supposed to make it impossible for him to hide his reaction to the men courting him. It was supposed to help Evangeline when she finally ruled on the courting after speaking to him. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't the real truth what was happening. His body wasn't speaking for his heart.

Gibbs sat comfortably next to him, close, clothed in a simple white chiton, the white setting off the tan of his skin, the brilliant blue of his eyes and his silver hair. And Tacitus also wore the single piece of clothing. His one shoulder showing bare, brawny, huge. His browned body every bit as incredible as Tony remembered it was. That was a new shock every time he looked away, only to look back and see it wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Gibbs wasn't nearly as impressive as his rival and friend. Tony had discovered the two men were indeed friends, for all that Tony had not met the man in Gibbs company. Tacitus had just returned from his service in Europe. He had returned when Evangeline, aware of his feelings for Tony, she had offered him a chance to compete for the slave, to make him his consort. The large man had never hesitated, leaping at the invitation.

And Tony was being swept into a maelstrom of confusion. Tacitus was beauty personified. All male, but beautiful, sitting, sleeping, eating, laughing. He was stunning, playful, sensual. Tony was stunned by it all. By the power of the Centurion who turned every tool at his personal disposal towards the task of seducing him. 

Gibbs had been quieter. Just as he wasn't able to compete with the physical blessings Tacitus had, he was also more reserved. He wasn't beautiful just sitting there, he was handsome, yes. But it wasn't until he moved that Tony couldn't find his breath. Gibbs moving was a dream. It confused him. They confused him.

Tony fed them. They ate. Drank as he lifted the wine up for them to sip. Tilting their heads back. Water to drink. Dribbles from the cups trickling over their lips at his inexpert aim. He giggled nervously to see it, as they tried to help him, craning their necks, trying to swallow faster. He watched the rivulets run over bare skin, his eyes fixed and his mouth oh'd. If only he might lap up those errant spills, chase them with his own tongue….

Hastily he reached out to distract himself. His groping hand found fruit piled on plates, freshly cut to nibble. Fruit that dripped. Dripped juice over his fingers, over their chins. Juice that they slurped up. Sucked off his fingers. Until the silk covering his lap tented. He squirmed, unwilling to meet their eyes, to let them see how much he was affected.

Especially with Evangeline sitting across the plain wood table from them, Faramir attentive at her side. Watching with a keen intelligence than seemed far more than the normal canine lot.

Three days.

He'd eaten, bathed, slept and lived with the two men. Once the courtship began he was pledged to them. If there had been only one man courting him, he would have spent all his time with the one, chaperoned by Evangeline or some other she chose.

But there were two. So he had two men by his side for everything. Every minute of the day and the night. He was not permitted to favor one over the other. Not until Evangeline had decided the courtship was completed and the time had come for him to make a decision. Then she would base her decision his statement and her own observations.

So, every meal he fed them, their hands not used, folded in their laps, dependent on him. He learned a bit more each day and spilled less, dropped fewer bites into their laps, stained their plain white robes with less wine each day as his aim improved. His hand wanted to tremble when he felt their lips on his skin, when they took the bites delicately from his fingers. When they licked the juice off his fingertips.

He washed them. Long leisurely soaks in the heated tub. Touching them as he wished, where he wished, but for some reason, after the first day, he hadn't had the courage to push them into intimacy again. He washed them, Tacitus hard every time Tony touched him. Gibbs, not usually, but seated in front of him, skin hot, steam rising off of him. Letting Tony lean against him. Companionable. Wonderful.

They read to him, from books of history and poetry when they rested together at the end of the day. He lounging on the carpets or pillows they had strewn across the floor for him. Or on the bed, where their nearness made it so hard for him to think.

They wrestled in front of him. Letting him get down, close, and touch as they grappled, taking infinite care not to roll over him, not to chance hurting him with their lethal art. He liked that, seeing them straining, struggling, pitting themselves against each other.

Slept wound around him. Warm.

His body ached.

He had no time to relieve the tension that rose, no time to let off steam.

He was aroused most of the time. Either from the way Tacitus looked at him, Yellow-gold eyes filled with lustful promises, or from brushing close to Gibbs, close enough to scent the man's unique musk. Waking in the dawn in his arms, for without fail it happened. In the night he'd turn to Gibbs and Gibbs would hold him.

He woke every day, his nose buried in Gibbs' hair, sniffing the wonderful smell he remembered. The scent he fell asleep surrounded by for years. The scent that meant home. That meant hearth. That meant he was where he should be.

Yet it was not Gibbs who kissed him first each night. It was Tacitus. Since that first time in the bath Gibbs had stepped back. Well, not completely true. He hadn't withdrawn. But he didn't touch Tony in any way that said they might be lovers. That said Tony could hold out hope.

Gibbs would lay down, on one side on the great wide bed, and watch as Tacitus took Tony's face in his big hands and kissed him. Long, warm, wonderful, heart breaking, gasping kisses that left Tony shivering in reaction. Tacitus was hard, pressed into his thighs. Wanting him. Needing him. Offering to slake the thirst that was building so high Tony thought he might scream. 

He'd managed to resist so far. Taking the kisses, because they were too good to refuse. Because he couldn't force himself to open his mouth and refuse. But drawing the shaky line in the sand at more. Though is body ached for it. Burned and cried for it. He denied it and himself. He pulled back from Tacitus his head reeling, his body crying out for him to take what he was being offered. But each night he pulled away and stole a look at Gibbs. Who did nothing more than kiss him on the cheek, the forehead, look into his eyes. Stroke a hand down his cheek, silently telling him he was loved. 

Every morning they woke in each other's arms. Wound snug. But, while awake Gibbs wouldn't reach out. Wouldn't make love to him. He'd never reject it when Tony touched him. But he didn't drag his slave into his arms and ravage his mouth like Tony wanted him to with a longing so deep he couldn't ever remember not feeling it.

It was too much. Too little. He was not able to resist. He felt his will eroding. Melting away more and more each night, until the wall around his heart, his body, the wall that kept others, kept Tacitus out was all but gone. All but crumbled into brickdust. And that was when Tacitus reached for him again. 

Here, at the table. In front of Gibbs, which could not be helped, and Evangeline here watching, missing nothing. Faramir growled from across the table, but Evangeline rested her hand on his back and he quieted, watching as Tacitus took Tony's face in his hands and held him with the sweet desire of a lover in his odd eyes.

Leaning in he lay slow kisses softly on Tony's mouth. So soft. Tony groaned. Embarrassed, but unable to hold back the sound. Tacitus bent him back onto the cushions. Tony found himself sprawled over velvet and Gibbs' lap. Tacitus kissing him. Mouths closed. But the heat building. Hungry beyond imagining.

He was helpless. Then he heard something. He struggled to hear it and comprehend it. A woman speaking, not Evangeline. A scream of rage. Tacitus rising from him, Gibbs fighting to get out from under his weight. Tony's brain refusing to understand.

The shrieked word came again. And he heard it loud and clear. He saw, shocked, Jen Sheppard her face twisted in rage, leveling a gun. Her hand shaking as she howled.

"WHORE!" It was flung at Tony, and it hit him with the force of a physical blow.

He had less than an instant to react when he saw the muzzle of the gun pointed, unsteady, trembling. He flung himself in front of Gibbs to shield him from the wild shot. Gibbs' hands grabbing him, his face horrified, trying to turn them, to put his own body between Tony and the bullet. There wasn't time. The impact was like being kicked by a horse. It tumbled him backwards. Driving the breath out of him. Dazed he lay on his back. Faces hovering. Tacitus and Gibbs. Gibbs white faced, shocked. Tacitus weeping, his sword out.

Distantly he heard the enraged roar of a large, infuriated animal. Dreamlike he saw Faramir springing over his head, over the table in a mighty leap, fangs bared. Then he heard a voice, fading, so far away. 

"Tony!" Echoed from two throats. Filled with pain, with horror and fear. 

And his world went black.


	13. Chapter 13

Jen Sheppard was aiming for her second shot, drawing a bead on Tony's face, when the great dog slammed into her, snarling. The impact drove the air from her, driving them both a dozen feet down the hall, Faramir on top of her, until his screeching claws dug in and stopped them. Massive jaws clamped down on her forearm, snapping the bones. She fell, in slow motion, her head striking the tiles with a hollow thunk, her hair spilling out over the tiles like pale blood. Jen lay motionless, the gun clattering over the floor coming to rest against the wall.

Almost as fast as the huge Irish Wolfhound, San Tacitus stood over her, his sword drawn, poised for a killing blow, his fist wound in the collar of the dog, keeping its snapping, furious teeth from her throat. If she would die, it would be by his sword, he would not surrender that satisfaction to the dog, no matter how noble and heroic the creature. 

But she never moved and he turned, releasing the dog's collar, running back to the room, to Tony, sheathing his sword. Leaving Faramir crouched over the mad assassin, growling, ready to respond if she should stir so much as a hair.

Gibbs was crouched over the still form of his slave. He bent down, breathed into Tony's mouth, then folded his hands together and pumped on his chest. He repeated the cycle of compressions and breathing twice more. Tony lay still. Evangeline was speaking urgently into her phone, an edge of hysteria to her voice that no one in her employ or service had ever heard from her before. She turned away from the sight of her son giving first aid to Tony. 

Tacitus slid down across from Gibbs. Tears ran down the face of the silver haired man as he continued CPR. Gibbs never stopped, and Tacitus smoothly joined in, taking over the compressions as Gibbs bent down to breathe for Tony again.

Then the room was filled with men. Equipment placed next to them, monitors applied as a grey haired man put a stethoscope to Tony's chest, one hand seeking the pulse at his groin. Eyes fixed on the monitor.

"He is fibrillating," the doctor said, gently pushing Gibbs and Tacitus back. He whipped out the paddles from the machine beside him and applied them to Tony's chest. He pressed the buttons, and the body jumped. Almost at once the monitor began beeping gradually becoming regular from an erratic start.

"He has a pulse," Dr. Gulliver announced. "Justin," he addressed his dark haired assistant, "Bag him. Let's get him to the chopper."

Evangeline helped her son to his feet, enfolding him in her arms as they stood watching the medical team working on Tony. San Tacitus joined them, putting his own arms around them both. All three wept as they watched Tony loaded onto a stretcher.

Two minutes later Tony was in the air, the helicopter rising in the sky and heading to the regional trauma center. Gibbs was in the jeep, Tacitus at his side, headed the same way, and not traveling all that much slower.

Evangeline remained in the driveway watching them go. She felt her heart give a deep wrenching beat. She was crying, dabbing at her eyes. Her limousine was being readied, there was no way she was not following them all to the hospital. She felt a touch on her hand and looked down.

Gabriel stood at her side. His eyes huge and frightened. "Gammy, is Tony going to die?" He asked, his lip quivering. Then he burst into tears. She knelt down on the paved drive, shredding the knees of her silk hose, hugged him tight, desperately wishing she knew the answer.

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"Jethro." It was the deep voice of San Tacitus that recalled him from his dark thoughts.

He turned towards the large man still clad in his bloodstained chiton, having only added a hospital robe over it all. He was holding a similar one out. Gibbs looked down. His own meager clothing was just as bloodied, going stiff as it dried. Uncomfortable. But the least of the problems on his mind just then.

"Do you love him?" Tacitus asked, quietly. "I do. I know it hasn't been long, not as long as you have had, but he has something so wonderful inside of him."

Gibbs nodded. "Of course I love him," he confirmed. Not at all surprised that San felt the same.

"Then why all of this? Why can't you claim him? Why am I here at all? What happened between the two of you?" San persisted. He paced over to the glass windows on the far side and attempted to look out over the city-scape. In truth he saw nothing.

Gibbs shrugged, twisting the blue and white striped robe in his fists. "My mother discovered I had hurt him. That I wasn't good for him. She thought he deserved to be happy. That's where you came in. She thought you would be the one for him."

"I could make him happy." San agreed, stepping nearer. His eyes shining. "If he'd never known you." He qualified his first statement. Gibbs who had let his head droop forward, snapped his attention back to the big man.

"He wants you. I've seen how he responds to you. He deserves someone who can make love to him." Gibbs stated. "I don't know if I can."

"Everyone wants me. That is nothing special. Even you wanted me once, Jethro, if you recall. But wanting me isn't loving me." San said. He frowned, coming to stand beside the shorter man. "You have had lovers, many of them, and you have had wives. Tell me you loved them all and I will agree you may doubt you can make love to this young man who you so obviously cherish."

"I saw you and him, together. I am not blind, San. I've been here the whole time, or have you forgotten? When you kiss him...he comes alive, his body is...." Gibbs shook his head, waving away the import of San's question. "I have never been in love. Until now. But I've watched you with him, every night. He wants what you offer him."

"So he wants the sex I can give him. So what. He chose today. He gave his life for you. That is more than sex. He's been horny. How can you blame him? Young men like sex. But being horny isn't the same as being in love."

"He is going to make it." Gibbs growled out. He stated it fiercely. "He is not going to die."

"Yes, I believe he is going to live. But he did give his life for you, not for me. Not for your mother. He never hesitated, not for a single instant. It was his choice. He couldn't know he'd survive it." San came closer. "Jethro. You've won. Without him having to say anything, you've so obviously won."

"I don't deserve him. I don't know how to give him what he wants, what he needs. From a lover. I just don't know how to make it work." Gibbs lowered his voice as he spoke to one of the few men living who he would share such a confidence with.

"Love him." Tacitus said. "That is everything."

"I do. It's just my body that won't co-operate." Gibbs protested, bitterly. He hated that he couldn't predict if he would get hard when Tony touched him or lay in his arms. Sometimes he would feel himself respond, harden. Other times, no matter what he tried, he had not.

"I don't believe that. You love him so much it flows off you in waves, my friend." Tacitus said back. "Are you telling me, that you can have sex with woman after woman, and yet, you can not have sex with the one being in the world who you love passionately?" He snorted his disbelief. The ruckling sound bringing a sudden, fleeting smile to Gibbs' lips. Then he sobered. Grew serious once more.

"Yeah, I do. So what? If I can't get hard how am I going to keep him satisfied? Tell me that. If I can't satisfy him, why should he chose me? Am I selfish enough to hold him, just because I love him?" 

San Tacitus stared at his friend. Then he strode over to the clear glass door of the solarium, closing it and locking it.

"Jethro, it is beyond time that someone talked some sense into you." Tacitus said slowly. "I am perfectly happy to beat it into you, if talking doesn't work."

"What?" Gibbs asked, surprised. Tacitus sat on one of the large, well-padded couches. He patted the cushion next to him.

"Come sit here. And listen to me."

Gibbs sat, hospital robe draped over his knees. He eyed Tacitus warily.

"What is it about loving Tony you feel you can't live up to? I know you can have an erection. I've seen it in the last few days with my own eyes. So what is the problem?"

"I've never...with a man."

"Never what? Been aroused? Not exactly true." Tacitus told him, point blank.

"I've never had to stay hard and make love to a man." Gibbs got out between clenched teeth. Voicing his fear of losing his erection, of not being able to please Tony.

"And you are afraid to try? What do you think the sky is going to fall if you don't get it right the first time? Tony will understand. He knows that he is your first."

"I won't. Why should he have to put up with me failing him again?" Gibbs said. 

"You want to give him up because you think you can't stay hard for him." Tacitus shook his head, amazed. "So who says it has to be you doing the honors? Let him top. He knows what to do. He will stay hard."

Gibbs stared, mouth hanging open. "Wwwwhaaaa....?" The idea shocked him. He was the master, Tony the slave. He would do what taking should be done. That was the way of things. Or was it? Tacitus threw back his head and laughed, a deep belling laugh that rang joyfully through the glass walled room.

"Shit, Gibbs. Do you really think Tony is going to want to lay back and spread his legs for you every time? He is not a woman. He is a man. A beautiful man who is so in love with you he threw himself between you and a bullet. Your fiancee shot at you, he saved your life. And let me just say, what a poor choice that woman was, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Yet you argue you'd be more willing to stick your dick in her?" Tacitus shuddered. He made the sign against the evil eye. "The gods save us from such logic. They are trying to tell you something. Four tries, four strikes, my friend. It is time to move on. Women, no matter how much you love how they make you feel, aren't meant for you. In fact they are spectacularly bad for you."

"You mean, I should let Tony...take me? The first time?" Gibbs was red-faced and flabbergasted. Almost failing to get the question out. Did masters do that?

"Yes, that is what I am saying. Let him teach you how to make love to a man. A man you love with all your heart. Who better?" Tacitus told him. "You don't need to get hard to make love to a man. If you can't figure out what to do without a hard cock in the bed, then use his. He is going to be hard, even if you aren't."

Tacitus looked at him slyly. His cheeky grin making itself known. "Or...you could invite me back into your bed...and I'll show you everything you need to know." He said leaning close and breathing across the outside of Gibbs ear. 

It tightened the skin all over his body. It made him think of sex and heat and bodies rubbing together. Tacitus licked the lobe of his ear. And Gibbs flashed on the remembered vision of Tony as the big man did this to him, sucked his lobe between sharp, gentle teeth. Tony hard, shielded only by a layer of thinnest silk. Arched back across Gibbs' lap, before the gunshot rang out. 

Gibbs had never seen anything so beautiful as Tony in that perfect, fragile moment, before it was shattered apart in his arms. All he wanted...all he wanted, was a chance to see that look in his eyes again, that glorious arch of his body, the sound he made when he moved under the big body that had been over his, when his leg slid up the length of Tacitus' thigh.

And the thought of Tony hard...made Gibbs hard. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp rapping on the locked door interrupted. They both turned to look. Then they stood and walked to the door.

They walked towards the glass door, where a man in scrubs and Dr Gulliver waited, a broad smile on his face as he beamed with happy news, clearly bursting with the need to share it.

"San," Gibbs paused just in front of the door, while the other man turned to him. "Watch the touchy-feely stuff in public, huh?" He said, in a lightly warning tone. 

Tacitus rolled his eyes, throwing a long arm around him and squeezing, laughing in his face, dropping a noisy kiss on top of Jethro's silver head.

"You bet, munchkin, you bet." But before they opened the door, he took Gibbs' shoulders in his hands, facing him, ignoring the hopping, excited medical men less than two feet away. "I will, you know." He offered in all seriousness. 

Gibbs raised his brows in a questioning movement. Tacitus clarified his meaning beyond all possibility of a misunderstanding. "If you ask it, I will come back to your bed. For you and for Tony. You have only to ask, my friend. It would be my honor."

Gibbs clasped hands with the huge man, a First Centurion's offer made to a First Centurion. He nodded, acknowledging the offer, letting Tacitus see his appreciation.

"I will think on it." He said, gravely. Tacitus nodded.

Then they let the doctors in.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who are reading this, wether it is the first or second or third time you are. Thanks for the kudos and comments.

Two days in Intensive Care with what Dr Gulliver called Pulmonary and Cardiac Contusions. Layman's translation (which Gibbs appreciated): bruised lungs and heart. Putting Tony at risk for an erratic heart beat and trouble with oxygen. From the bullet Jen Sheppard had fired into his chest. The woman Gibbs had brought into their intimate lives. He couldn't forget that. 

There wasn't much more damage than bruising, the bullet hadn't tumbled, but sped right on through. The small track it had left had been irrigated and explored, the tiny bleeders cauterized or stitched closed. Tony was on antibiotics and pain meds. Gibbs had lit candles and incense to thank Mercury and Apollo for the blessing of Tony's life. That no great vessels had been severed, that Tony was still alive, and recovering. And to pray for the healing to be swift and thorough.

Tacitus and Gibbs were both nearly constant visitors at Tony's bedside. Evangeline coming in twice a day, tearful and grateful, bringing with her young Gabriel. The little boy had gone especially clingy, not wanting to enter the sick room, wanting to be held when he did, watching Tony in the great, motorized bed with huge, anguished eyes. The doctors didn't want the child too near the injured man, but Gibbs carried him to Tony's side just once. Let him feel that Tony was warm, breathing, alive.

Gibbs held his son, the short arms around his neck, Gabriel's head on his shoulder turned so he could see Tony from his position in his father's hold. He rocked the boy as much to soothe him as himself. Tacitus was there, but he had taken a step back, surrendering Tony to his once rival and long time friend. Respecting Tony's choice.

After ICU, Tony was moved, groggy with pain medications administered around the clock. He was transferred to the step down unit, where he was monitored by a remote transmitter, his heart and it's beat under constant surveillance. It was one of the few things Gibbs and Tacitus allowed the nurses to do. That and bring him medications.

One of them was always at his side. They fed him and washed him, changed his blankets, sheets and gown. Shuttled bedpans and urinals. Cleaned up. Held his hand, stroked his face, whispered in his ear. They were the ones who got him to his feet for the first walk on day three. A dozen steps, no more, but progress they wouldn't have missed for anything. They listened to the nurses and asked questions, grilling the doctors when they appeared on rounds. The hospital employees in awe of them and intensely curious about the young slave who had managed to acquire two First Centurions as his caregivers.

Seven days after the shooting the last of the drainage tubes were removed and Tony was discharged, a huge stack of papers detailing his course of treatment and after care plunked into Gibbs' hands. Tacitus laughed at him for the expression on his face.

Then Tony was flown back to the Gibbs' estate under the competent care of Dr Gulliver. Tacitus sat with Tony after they both settled him, while Gibbs went in search of his son. 

The entire incident had been hard on the boy. Gabriel had grown up thinking of Tony as his family as much as his father or grandmother. Seeing the man shot down, rushed from the household smeared in blood and unresponsive had been devastating for the child to witness.

Daily trips to the hospital in the company of his grandmother had started the healing process, but by no means completed it. It helped that he saw Tony was still alive, still breathing, moving now, his skin warm. But it would take him much longer to return to the cheery little boy he had been. To find security in his home. Gibbs hated Jen Sheppard for that. For taking the illusion of safety from his child so young.

Gibbs found him outside Tony's room. Crouched behind one of the household altars watching as slaves marched silently in and out, bringing what was needed into the room. His feet were grimy. the only part of him Gibbs could see easily, covered in dust, his toes brown and dirty in his strapped sandals. He wore a short skirt, one he would have used when he was wrestling. Not his usual casual clothing. His short child's sword was strapped to his waist in its plain sheath. Behind him, out of his view, was the towering figure of Magdalen, keeping her watch over him, out of his way, but vigilant. Gibbs sent another prayer to the gods for her. Gabriel could at least come to no physical harm with her near.

Gibbs shook his head. The gods had given him many gifts over the years. Tony would live. His son was unharmed. He was unharmed. He had another chance to make their lives what they should be. It so easily could have been very different.

He knelt down on the cold tile, bending to see behind the altar. He met the brilliant eyes of his son. Clouded with grief and loss. Clouded, and afraid to believe that Tony was safe. That he would recover. 

"Gabriel." Gibbs called to the boy. "Come here." He held out his hand. The huge eyes blinked at him. He extended his hand further, nodded reassuringly. Gabriel's eyes flicked from his hand to his face.

"Come, my son. Tony wishes to have you near him." He said, his voice soft as rose petals. And it was true. Tony had asked after the boy. 

Gabriel crawled forward from out of the dark recess. Gibbs picked him up, swinging him into his arms. He kissed the side of his son's face. He said, "I love you Gabriel. Tony loves you as well. Let's go sit with him."

"Is he going to die?" Came the small voice, trembling, arms wound tight around his father's neck and Gibbs had to fight the need to hold him tighter. He kissed the short, soft black curls.

"No. Tony is not going to die. He is going to live. With us. He is going to be my Consort. The Consort of our House." He reassured the boy as he carried him down the hall. Gabriel turned his rounded cheek into his father's stubbly one, his mouth came close to Gibbs ear.

"You promise." It was not a question. It was a demand, a statement. A whisper. Delivered in as firm a tone ans his quivering lower lip allowed. Gibbs felt his heart fill with love for his son. There was nothing on this Earth that meant more to him. Not his own life, not his Family, not his Emperor. He prayed again, offering silent thanks to the gods. It could have been so, so much worse.

"Yes. I promise."

"And...you won't marry her?"

"No. I won't marry her." His gut crawled with the memory of how close he had come to marrying her. Her madness hidden. His foolishness had put them all in jeopardy. If he had wed her, brought her into his home, how much more damage might she have done? He shuddered, hugging Gabriel closer.

"Good. I hate her. She hurt Tony." Gabriel said. Then fervently. "I wish she was dead. I wish Faramir bit her to death!" The savage feeling behind the words was real.

Gibbs was always astonished at the bloodthirsty nature of children. Their honesty. He rumpled the tousled locks of his son's hair.

"I know. But it is for the best this way. She can not hurt him anymore. She is not going to be able to hurt anyone. You are safe from her. You know that, don't you Gabe? You are safe." He told his child. 

"Why did she hurt Tony?" He asked in a small voice. He couldn't understand how anyone might want to hurt the people he loved. And Tony was one of the ones he loved most fiercely.

"She was sick." He told the boy, pausing on the threshold of the sick room. Then he said. "Are you ready to go see Tony?" Gabriel nodded.

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Gabriel refused to willingly leave Tony's room after that. He was carried in the first day, crawling hesitantly up onto the piled quilts and pillows to look into the drawn and pale face of the man who had been part of his life as far as he could remember. Very carefully he curled himself up against Tony's good side, and for the first time in a week, dropped of into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Tony in his own turn stirred and looked down to witness the curly headed boy cuddled to him. He smiled. Gibbs smiled back when their eyes met. He never hesitated. He mouthed, "I love you." To the man on the bed. Tony blinked. Then his eyes gleamed, filling with tears. Happy ones. Tacitus stroked his cheek.

"It is good for him, to have Tony back." Tacitus remarked from the far side of the bed, watching the small boy. "I only hope he will someday forgive me for stopping the dog." 

Gibbs glanced up from the moving sight of his son sleeping next to the man he loved. "What did he say?" He asked. Tacitus regarded him with serious eyes.

"He only said what they all have said. That he wished she was dead. It would have been easier if I had not been so fast." A shadow moved behind his yellow eyes.

"No." Gibbs shook his head. "What you did was right. How could you kill an unconscious and defenseless opponent? I just want her never to be near any of my Family again. Or I will not show the restraint you did."

"Nor I." Tacitus shook his head. "She was pure poison. I wonder how hard it would have been if Tony hadn't chosen as he did? He saved you and in so doing he saved your son. Your Family." His golden yellow eyes met Gibbs'. Their message clear. There was more to the role of Slave Consort than sex. There was family, children, love, loyalty. It was not merely a matter of sex. It was a matter of life and of living. Gibbs was learning that.

Gibbs looked down at the sight of his son snuggled in the crook of Tony's arm, his slave's face exhausted but happy. He stepped up to the side of the bed, seated himself there. He stretched out behind his son, curving around him, surrounding him laying his hand on Tony's shoulder, reaching as far as he could, moving closer, until they both fit into his arms.

Tacitus stood, coming around the side of the bed, bending down and laying his own hand on Gibbs' thigh. Gibbs looked at him. Meeting the strange yellow eyes.

"Rest, brother. Hold them that you love and be at peace. I will see you sleep safe this day. On my honor." Tacitus settled himself in a chair. "Worry over nothing today. You have them with you, safe."

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"Matriarch." Evangeline greeted the woman before her with considerable reserve. She had not expected the visit. A letter, an ambassador, yes, but not a personal visit from the mother of the woman who had tried to assassinate her son, and the future Consort of her House.

"Matriarch." The woman echoed in return. Her pinched face grey with stress and worry.

"Please, be seated." Evangeline gestured the matriarch of the Sheppard Family to a chair in front of her desk. She would have been happy to go the rest of her life without having this meeting. "May I offer you refreshment?" She began, keeping things formal. She head never been close to the woman. And with these circumstances, she never would be. But she could be polite.

"No. I am sure you do not want me here long. I can not blame you. But what kind of mother would I be if I did not come to plead for my daughter?" The woman murmured, lifting her chin. Evangeline admired that at least, the woman did find the strength to look into her eyes.

"Go on." Evangeline prompted. Fearing she already knew what the woman was going to request of her. This was not to be an apology, which would have been welcome, if inadequate. She sensed that.

"I have come to ask for the complaint against my daughter be withdrawn. I want to take her home. I can have doctors treat her there, where she will be more comfortable. Where she will be safe and have what she needs. Not spend every moment being reminded she is a prisoner." The pain and distaste in her voice was overflowing. But Evangeline was struck more by the insensitivity. There was no recognition of the suffering of the Gibbs Family. Though, grief could blur the sharpest mind...perhaps it was not meant to be insulting, perhaps the matriarch had merely forgotten in her grief.

"I can not grant your wish, matriarch. Your daughter nearly killed someone. She is dangerous." Evangeline's tone was understanding, kind, but firm as marble.

"A slave. She shot a slave." The woman protested. Her eyes hardening.

"A slave. One who threw himself in front of my son, and thus saved him from serious injury or death." Evangeline reminded the woman, evenly. So, not apology. No feeling in her that made her think to offer one. Evangeline's heart hardened. The madness had perhaps revealed its root.

"A slave. Only a slave, surely you can find the mercy in your heart... Your son wasn't harmed." The woman continued.

"I am afraid that is not true. My son was hurt. The slave who your daughter shot was Candidate for Slave Consort for my house and the house of DiSantis Tacitus." She made her voice hard and cold. "So while I regret the loss of your daughter's company in your home... I know you will understand if I do not ask she be released into your custody." While Evangeline had breath in her body, she would see Jen dead before she saw her free.Free where a second of inattention might see her able to attack and kill another.

"It should not have happened." The slight figured woman murmured. Wringing her hands. And Evangeline drew a breath believing the woman was finally starting to get it, to recognize the import of Jen Sheppard's murderous act.

"If your son had not led her on, led her to believe he wished to give her a marriage of honor, then descended to courting a Slave Consort..." Evangeline stood. She was trembling with rage. Her eyes found those of her gigantic young and muscular secretary, Sebastian. His face was schooled into a polite mask, but she could see his anger, his revulsion in the green eyes that met hers.

"Matriarch. I am sad for your grief. I wish it was not necessary, that none of this happened. But I will not release the woman who attempted to kill my Heir and the Consort of my house. Good day." She waited while the startled woman was escorted out of the room. All the while seeming to honestly not know what she had said to prompt her rapid expulsion. Evangeline sank to her chair. Placing her head in her hands. Allowing herself another moment of grief and prayerful thanks.


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm not made of glass." Tony said to the man walking beside him, their arms hooked together, fingers interlocked, Gibbs trying to offer Tony support with his arm. Gibbs turned wary eyes on him, the doubt in his face blatant, plain to any who looked at him. Tony wasn't yet cleared to resume his normal vigorous activity. But walking was OK. Gibbs took a stroll with him each morning and evening, cutting short his work day, a near miracle for the notorious workaholic. He forbade Tony to walk alone, but knowing that he now outranked everyone in the Household except Gibbs himself, he'd also extracted Tony's word of honor on the point.

Tony sighed inwardly. Gibbs still worried about hurting him as he healed or that he might somehow have a setback of some kind, Gibbs treated him with such gentleness it made his heart melt. And his body turn to fire. But Gibbs was too afraid of harming him to let Tony try to start anything romantic or sexual. Tony was attempting to convince Gibbs it wouldn't do any damage. In fact, the amount of time he spent thinking about it...it might actually help him by reducing his stress.

"It's been three weeks. I am well enough to be in your bed for more than sleeping." Tony chided Gibbs gently. That brought a definite blush to his master's cheeks. Tony smiled, averting his face long enough to regain control. He didn't want Gibbs to see the smile and misunderstand. Tony wasn't laughing at him, he was just so...happy. 

He'd never expected to be this lucky. To have Gibbs tell him with words how much he loved him. To have Gibbs kiss him, really kiss him, with passion....there was only one more thing he wanted. He wanted to feel Gibbs buried inside of him. Possessing him body, heart and soul. He'd always wanted that. Wanted his master to take him. To make him feel the love in a physical way, a way that could not be denied.

He lifted his fingers and touched the pinked cheek. Gibbs accepted the caress with a smile. This was good. To walk and touch him like this. Tony had not expected it. Gibbs was so masculine, and so straight. Yet he wanted Tony to touch him now, in public, in front of others. And it wasn't like they had any secrets left, not now that Evangeline had published the fact that Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs was now Slave Consort to the Gibbs Family. Everyone knew. Acknowledgements and congratualtions had reached them from around the world. As well as a letter of sympathy to Tony from Gibbs' last wife. Shocking in it's sincerity.

Even dealing with Gibbs treating him like a precious and fragile artifact wasn't all bad. Tony had only to flash back on the instant of seeing the gun raised, pointed at his master, the muzzle looking larger than it was, a gaping maw of blackness, of imminent death...and everything was put into perspective. He'd come close to losing all of this, of never having known this wonder, of having Gibbs tell him he loved him. Gibbs, the reserved, controlled First Centurion did that, every day.

"And Gabriel? He has slept with us every night since you came back. What shall we do with him?" Gibbs reminded him. Tony's blue eyes lifted, became serious. 

"I won't turn him out until he is ready." Tony assured his master. "He needs to be close to us."

"So...then where does that leave us?" Gibbs asked, knowing he wasn't going to get or use an erection with his son in the same room, whether the child was asleep or awake. Knowing Tony felt the same. Kissing, cuddling, snuggling, oh yes. The three of them sleeping, Gabriel safely tucked between them, sleeping like an innocent, his fears defeated. But nothing more. 

"With the entire day. He only sleeps with us during the night." Tony reminded gently. And Gibbs blushed for the second time in less than five minutes. The thought of having sex with Tony, during daylight, no darkness to soften it, it gave him a shiver that tore through his body. But it also made him aware of a crippling shyness he never encountered when having sex with women.

"Gibbs? What is it?" Tony sounded alarmed. He pulled them to a halt. His hands going to the other man's shoulders. He searched the handsome face of his lover in all things but the final step that would join their bodies. "What is wrong? You can't keep secrets from me now, I am your Consort." That was true enough. The entire purpose of a Family Consort was to share the burden of the Family with the Patriarch or the Heir. But it wasn't a thing Gibbs easily relearned, to trust and to share. He'd already had trust, but sharing, that was very hard.

Gibbs looked out over the gardens. He remembered what Tacitus had said to him. "I am not sure I can." He told Tony quietly. Still that hung between them. Gibbs' fear. Struggling to find a way to change it hadn't worked. He loved his Consort more than ever. More than he'd loved anyone. Yet, he couldn't imagine himself inside of Tony. Doing that to his beloved. He could kiss him for hours, kissing DiNozzo purified every cell of his being. Holding him was a bliss more powerful than he'd found in any woman's bed. The best sex he'd ever had couldn't compete with feeling Tony's hands on him. But sex. Fucking? Oh, damn. That was another kettle of fish entirely.

Tony stared at him, his expression cautious, reserved, wanting to be very sure he understood what was being said here. Gibbs hated that look, he lifted his hand and smoothed his fingers over the pale cheek, unable to stop himself from leaning in, and placing a kiss on his mouth. Tony would tan up soon, he always did, he'd look like the old DiNozzo. The man who played one on one with him, who wrestled with him who was the back up he trusted to be there. 

Gibbs would see Tony got plenty of sun, ate well, progressed at his exercises, carefully, until he was as strong as he had been, or better...and he was avoiding the one subject he needed to address. He drew in a breath.

"When you were...in the hospital, San and I talked. I realized I had made certain assumptions that were...erroneous." Gibbs tried to explain, feeling around for the right words to use. He couldn't take the chance that Tony misunderstood him.

"What assumptions?" Tony asked him, his expression guarded, tinged with anxiety. 

See? See? Like this, Tony was getting more worried, not less. Gibbs couldn't take the pain of hurting him. That left only one thing. What San had suggested. He could give Tony that. The rest of it, maybe later. He'd never stop trying.

"That I had to be the one to...to..." Gibbs looked away. He tugged on Tony's arm, got them moving again, needing movement, anything to distract himself from the difficulty of saying it. He tried sharing most of the truth, not all of it. "I don't know what to do with a man. Essentially. That is what it comes down to. I love you. But...I don't know....how to do what is expected of me." It had been a very long time since Gibbs had not known what to do in a situation as important as this. But he was adrift, uncertain. And so afraid of disappointing his Consort. Of failing altogether. Coming up limp and usless when he needed to be hard and ready.

"I know that, I know that you love me. I love you also, so very much. But, you don't want to make love to me?" Tony tried to keep his tone even and mild, but the sound of hurt was impossible to conceal, Gibbs heard it loud and clear. He shook his head. Hurting Tony was not acceptable. The whole truth wasn't worth that. Sharing his fear that he might never be able to top for him wasn't worth it.

"No, Tony. That is wrong. I do want to make love to you, I want to give you all the pleasure and sex you deserve I want to make you happy. But, I don't know if I can. I don't know how to make it good for you." Gibbs admitted, fighting the instinct that made it so hard for him to admit weakness or need. That impulse, the one that admitted or confessed weakness of any kind had been drummed out of him years ago, first by his father, then after his death, by the military. A First Centurion did not run around sharing warm fuzzies and feelings of uncertainty.

"Jethro. Anything we do together will be good enough for me, for us. Just having you touch me..." Tony said, the tide of relief washing over him like a warm rush of sweet oil. Gibbs did want him, want sex with him. The relief almost brought him to his knees. Gibbs felt his sudden weakness and grabbed him. 

"Tony?" He asked urgently, half carrying him to one of the many seats placed along the path in the last three weeks. Placed there just for an eventuality like this. He pulled his cell out as Tony sank to the bench. And he had it opened before Tony could stop him. Open but not dialed as Tony's hand took the phone from him and closed it.

"No, Jethro. No need. I'm fine. I just...it was good to hear you wanted me. I was afraid you didn't. That is all it was." Tony met the evaluating gaze. "Let's sit and talk for a minute. Please." He handed back the phone, and with only the smallest hesitation Gibbs nodded and returned it to his pocket.

"OK, but the truth, trust and sharing go both ways. You tell me if you aren't fine."

"I will," Tony promised. They held hands. Tony felt a wave of curiosity overwhelm him. "When you married, did you ever do this with your wives? Walk in the gardens, talk?"

Gibbs looked surprised. Then he shook his head. "No. Never. I was in the legions, then busy at NCIS. I had no time for walks in a garden. I probably was not a good husband. I had my life and they had theirs."

They never had a chance. Tony realized it. The three women had no way to get to know their husband like he had. At work, at play, in daily life. They'd been kept out of Gibbs' way. Tony was the only person to share his life. To sleep in his private rooms day after day. To work with him. To witness and to share the moments of time Gibbs spent with his precious son. To eat with him, almost every meal, to wash with him, talk with him. Tony was the only one to had done that. Lived Gibbs life with him. He was the one Gibbs had let in.

"No. I want it to be better than good enough." Gibbs said finally, resuming the conversation where they'd left off. "I want to please you. I want to know that I made it good for you. The best."

"Please. Don't say it. Please. It is what I want. All I want. You. Gabriel. Evangeline. You are everything to me. That is the best, of everything." Tony pulled him close and took his face in his hands, his long fingers curling over his cheeks. He stroked the silvery, newly cut hair of his master. Being able to do this without asking leave, it was more than he'd hoped for. He leaned forward, kissed him, sweetly, their lips melding, clinging. He pulled away, his eyes gone heavy lidded. "This is wonderful. To have this..."

"I want you to have it all." Gibbs said. Hardly able to pull his eyes away from Tony's mouth, his tongue licking those sensual lips. "I...We....uhm." He faltered. Uncharacteristically unable to get the words out, to be direct. He waffled. And that was so not Gibbs. He shook his head, just a tiny motion that Tony felt through his palms.

"I don't turn you on do I?" Tony said. His heart sank. But if he had to chose between love and lust, then it was love he'd chose. He didn't even need a moment to think that over. Love. He wanted love.

"No! NO! You do. You do turn me on. I have never loved anyone like I love you. I just...I don't have the skills here...I'm not sure how..or what to do. San offered..." Gibbs fumbled.

"I don't want San Tacitus." Tony said quietly, firmly. "I want you."

"And I want you to have me." He said triumphantly. Tony's brow creased, not catching the meaning.

"I want you to take me. Take me to bed and show me how it is done. I want you..." Gibbs searched for the term San had used...."I want you to top me. I want you to be inside of me. First." He said, praying to the gods with every fiber of his being that he'd be able to return the favor, that he'd be able to make love to Tony after. He hugged him, holding him, pressing their faces cheek to cheek.

Tony's jaw dropped, he felt as if he'd been dunked in an icy bath, shocked beyond all reason. Whatever he'd expected it wasn't this. He never thought of himself as taking Gibbs. He sucked in air. Take Gibbs? Top him? Could he? His breath came out as half a moan, his whole body gone tight. Oh, Christos. Why this? When all his dreams had been Gibbs finally taking him? Finally enslaving his body as he already had done with his heart. 

Tony had put such thoughts from his mind a long time ago. He wasted no time visualizing it. Gibbs had always been top in every fantasy he had. Knowing Gibbs was his master, Gibbs was an alpha male through and through. He had accepted that he would never enter his master's body. That he would always be the one taking it on his back, open, eager, hot, and receptive. Now this....an offer he thought would not be his, not ever.

An offer he didn't know if he wanted at all. He held their faces together frantically, desperate not to have Gibbs see his expression. The shock and dismay on his face. He knew he wasn't capable of hiding it, not from the man who knew him so well. Honesty was not such an easy thing.

He had no alternative. He had to try. He had to take Gibbs to bed, and try to forget his dream, his fantasy. What he ached to have. His master inside of him, possessing and owning him. Making him writhe and beg. Loving him, deep, hard and in charge.

Gibbs didn't want him. He loved him. Yes, Tony knew that was true. But he didn't want him. The ache around his heart grew.


	16. Chapter 16

As failures went, Gibbs admitted it was pretty spectacular. A screw up anyone could boast of. His groan of frustration was caught by the pillow he pushed his bright red face into, jaw clenched. Not right, not good, but what the fuck did he expect? He shook his head. He couldn't even manage to lay still and let the man he loved penetrate him. He hadn't a damn clue what to do to make it right. He didn't know how to make love to a man, to accept being aroused by one, not even one he loved as much as Tony. His own body, usually his finest tool, his best asset, rebelled.

While he'd actually gotten hard, or nearly so during the petting phase of their try at coupling, all it took was Tony rolling him onto his belly to make him lose it. He'd gone stiff alright, all over the rest of his body, every nerve screaming at him not to let anyone, anything behind him, placing himself in such a vulnerable position. More so when he felt Tony's hard cock against his hip. He'd had to resist the automatic, crippling elbow strikes his body wanted to throw at the man tucked in behind him. 

There had been too many years of training warning him that to be face down with a man kneeling over him, on top of him, was not a safe place to be. More so if that man was naked, it seemed. He shook his head again, forcing out all the lethal and semi-lethal strategies he was considering to reverse his position. He couldn't relax. He kept unconsciously waiting for a knife to be pressed to his throat, or sunk into his back. Apparently he equated Tony's prick the equivalent of a weapon of war. 

Tony himself, got hard as a rock as they kissed and fondled. Gibbs sliding the chain through his fingers, unclipping it with a flick of his thumb, tugging on it, loving the feel and the weight of it, sliding his grip up and down the silk and steel shaft. And yet, Tony went soft at the crucial moment. He went from hard when they were pressed face to face, to marshmallow soft when Gibbs was belly down. Gibbs felt it happen in the space of seconds. Tony started out hard, long and heated against his hip, then heartbeat by heartbeat softened until he was a soft hot mass, no more useful than jello.

Gibbs stayed on his belly, face pressed into the pillow and sighed. He wanted to scream and howl, but that much loss of his celebrated control would scare his Consort. He wasn't all that surprised by the events. This he should have seen coming way before he found himself here, like this with Tony's tears dripping onto his back, a wet cheek resting on his shoulder blade, and Tony mumbling he was sorry. Over and over in that little broken voice.

Foreplay was no problem, the kissing, holding and cuddling. The rubbing up and down all those acres of smooth skin, with it's few patches of dark gold hair laying in fur-like softness. Gods, he liked that part. Licking the salt off Tony's back bent throat, nibbling along the collar bone, cupping shoulders a bit wider than his own. Rubbing thumbs over tautened nipples so different from a woman's but even more delicious when he mouthed them, Tony's sighs ever more arousing. The possessive streak in him swelling, proud and full. That was easy, natural for him. Sniffing in the natural scent of Tony, to him the sweetest scent of all.

But being a bottom? It rubbed him absolutely the wrong way, he went limp dicked, and tight assed in the space of one breath. And Tony hadn't even gotten around to touching his ass...well, OK he touched it, but hadn't stuck anything inside. Well and good enough, because Gibbs doubted he could have pried his cheeks apart with a lever. It was the position that was not right. Now he'd managed to upset Tony. He sighed again. Time to fix that. No matter what it took. He'd rip himself in half to stop the tears.

Gingerly he turned, fighting to move slowly, not to give the other man the impression he was being flung off, though Gibbs' martial instinct was to do just that. Fling the weight off and set himself to repel the attack. He had to fight to keep Tony close, ending up with his arms around him, holding him. He used his thumb to wipe off the salty moisture that streaked both of the hot cheeks. Then he licked it off his thumb, unable to resist. It tasted like his Consort and he loved that flavor.

"Hey. Don't cry. I can't stand it when you cry. No biggie, huh? We'll work it out." Gibbs said, realizing that far from irritating him like his wives' tears had done, Tony's tore at his heart. 

"Maybe my ass isn't as hot as I thought, huh?" He tried to lighten the mood, ending up with Tony sniffling into his neck instead. Great. Not only was he incapable of fucking Tony, he also wasn't attractive enough for Tony to want to fuck. He'd known trying it in the harsh light of day was a mistake. He felt as if he was under a spotlight. A far cry from how he performed with women, he could take a woman in the middle of downtown at the height of the shopping day and not flinch if he had to. But being with Tony...he felt unbelievably shy. Exposed. He wanted to run.

Tony lay on his chest, hands under Gibbs' shoulders holding on for dear life. He shook his head at the remark. Gibbs hands continued to move over his back stroking him, soothing him, murmuring words of apology and love. But Tony knew who's fault it really was. Gibbs' fingers wandered to the nape of his neck and massaged. Gods, that was...uhhhhh.

"No. It is my fault. I've always wanted it to be you who took me. I can't see it any other way." Tony explained in a timid whisper. "You are my master. I can't take you like that." He protested, the sadness of his tone like a knife through Gibbs' chest.

"Yeah. I'm figuring that out." Gibbs answered, evenly, depositing a kiss on top of the bent head. "Which makes this my problem not yours, babe." He accepted that responsibility. He was the master, no matter what San Tacitus said, no matter what worked for his friend this was him and it was Tony, and that obviously wasn't the same thing. He should have been the one to do the claiming, instead of foisting the responsibility off on his slave. The failure was all his.

"Jeez." Tony sniffled. His voice thick. "We are a pair aren't we?" The tears kept moving down his face and onto Gibbs' chest. The sniffling wouldn't stop. But he tolerated it, because what he really wanted to do was sob. And that would be worse.

"Yep, that'd be us." Gibbs agreed. "So. Here." He sat up stuffing pillows behind his back. He patted his blanket covered lap. "Your head, here." He ordered. "Let's rest for a while, while I figure this out." His voice was firm and Tony obeyed without hesitation.  
Gibbs slid his fingers through the wonderful, warm and satiny hair. His caress meandering to include all of Tony's upper body. Light caresses, affectionate, loving. 

Tony soaked it up, his tears drying, his broken heart healing with each touch, that little bit more. No one who didn't love could touch like this. The painful ache eased. This was proof positive that Gibbs loved him. Cherished him. But his body, conditioned forever to want women, didn't want a man. Tony had to take that to heart. He needed to find a way to touch his master that wouldn't remind Gibbs that he was a man. Fucking him was not the way. Certainly not now, maybe never.

"It's not like we have to do it. I don't have to bear you a child, an heir or anything." Tony added to the exchange quietly. "I don't have to be your lover. I can be your Consort without that." Being beside Gibbs was the important thing, being part of his life. Sex..he mentally gave himself a hard shake for the instant spike of desire that rose. No. Gibbs didn't want that from him. He couldn't force it. He couldn't rape him. No even with his consent. It would still be an assault.

Gibbs thought he would throw up at the barely hidden tone of loss in his Consort's voice. "You are my lover." He growled, meaning every word. "I've never loved any woman a tenth as much as I love you. If that doesn't make you my lover what does? We'll work it out. I promise you that, my Consort. My word to you."

Tony felt the words sink into him. He believed them. He always believed Gibbs. Because Gibbs never lied to him. He laid it on the line and stuck by what he said. Tony trusted him. Gibbs would fix it. He snuggled his cheek along the muscular thigh he rested on. It was wonderful to be here, like this, with Gibbs touching him like he was so precious, so adored. His touch echoed his words. Love. Love. Love. Tony soaked it up like a long dry sponge. Tony felt the love between them. 

He rubbed his cheek up and down again, returning the caress. Returning just as much love as he was receiving. He wrapped his long arms around Gibbs' hips and waist, settling close, squeezing hard, then easing a bit. Pressed his lips to the bare, flat belly, beautiful, cut, a few flat, silken hairs beneath his belly button. Tony ran his tongue over them, smoothing them with his tongue and his spit. He licked over the six-pack. Slow and leisurely. Above him Gibbs sucked in a quick breath.

The next languorous lick encountered something that hadn't been there a moment ago. Tony's tongue slid wetly, inadvertently over the tip of Gibbs' erection. Hard, pounding, surging upright. Tony let out a little moan. His tongue wrapped itself around the glistening, wet head of his master's cock. Curled across the flesh. The bitter salt taste an elixir, an aphrodisiac Tony could never resist.

Gibbs groaned again. His breath hitched as he looked down. Seeing Tony's pink tongue flickering out, lapping at him, at the head of his cock. Those sweet, rosy lips nibbling along his length. His hips lifted, arching to meet the mouth. He shivered, hard, his head falling back, totally out of his voluntary control. He fought to raise it, and look again, to see Tony as he took Gibbs' cock into his mouth.

It was hot and wet and skilled. Gibbs moved down, his body wanting more, Tony went with the move, until Gibbs was mostly flat on his back, and Tony was between his legs, giving the other man an unobstructed view of the act as it unfolded, got better, more intense. That was good. Gibbs alternated between moaning and pushing up into that wondrous mouth far more gently than he wanted to, and dropping his head back and shaking as Tony's mouth took him in to the root. Swallowed around the shaft of him. 

That was it, the best. No woman had a mouth like this, or the will to do it, at least not in Gibbs' encounters. Tony swallowed him down as if he wanted it, as if he loved it. Gibbs shook. He pushed in deeper, curving a hand behind Tony's head, lifting his hips up, sliding deep, deeper, and Tony took it all, cheeks hollowed, no resistance. None. 

Gibbs was shaking, really shaking as he watched himself disappear into Tony's mouth. Then reappear, glistening and hard. The swirl of tongue around his glans, Tony's fingers digging into his hips, holding him, the wet strings of saliva dripping down his balls. The sound of it, his own moans, the slick moves in and out of the cavern of heat, he was huffing air through his teeth, his muscles quivering, his knees up and wide. He didn't even notice the finger, wet with all the excess spit. 

He didn't notice it when it spread the soaking spit around his ass. But he did notice when it slid into him. And to his surprise it didn't make him soft. Tony had long fingers. Really long and it felt like a slender prick. It also felt good.

"Oh, shit." He moaned. Hunching his pelvis. Not thinking, purposely not thinking of anything but the mouth on his cock and the way it felt with Tony sucking him. The finger was just a little bit more, a little more intensity. Good stuff. He let his knees fall wide, flat to the bed, curving his hips up, Tony's finger going further into him.

It was sudden, it caught him unaware. He screamed a half scream, short and sharp. Then gasped for air. "What the fuck was that?" His whole body tingled. "Gods, what did you do?"

Tony looked at him, mouth full, eyes dark. And did it again. Gibbs fell back, bones gone liquid as the finger found the spot again. He'd never felt anything so intense in his life. His prick, which he thought couldn't get harder stiffened into pure steel. His balls drew up until they were trying to crawl up into his body. His skin tightened, his nipples diamond hard points. He panted, no strength left in him, just need.

He managed a weak thrust up, Tony suckling him, his tongue rubbing the place behind the head, just as his finger stroked over that place inside of him, pressed, was joined by a second finger, so the spot was caressed by two fingers...Gibbs had never imagined it. Fire and heat, with a cool ripple of gooseflesh, ripping up his spine as he moaned helplessly, none of his muscles obeying his hyper stimulated brain.

Tony's fingers spread apart inside of him. Hooked, his other hand pressing Gibbs' perineum down into the fingers pushing up inside. He swallowed hard. Gibbs, helpless, splayed and incoherent, cried out. His body convulsing, shooting every ounce of his climax into the mouth that held him. Everything fractured into a thousand shards of sensation, glittering in the fall. Over and over his body writhed. Giving it all up. He shook, panted. His vision sparkling. Every ejaculation of fluid came from his entire body, every nerve shivering, exploding.

Oh fuck. Oh damn. Gibbs did what he'd never done. He passed out, his skin, his body, every cell howling it's unbelievable pleasure.


	17. Chapter 17

Faramir sat outside of the doorway, settled on his haunches, both ears lifted, on alert. His whole frame tensed as he listened to the sounds coming from inside the room behind him. 

A slave walked by, turning to look as the noises became louder, faltering to a stop and taking a tentative step towards the door to investigate. Faramir laid his ears back and growled warningly. The slave retreated, a wary eye on the very large dog.

Faramir sank down to wait and guard the privacy of his two temporarily adopted masters.

Gibbs groaned. His limbs were relaxed, heavy, his body relaxed, blissful. He sighed, feeling a lazy smile float across his face. A feather light touch was stroking his face, brushing his sweat damp hair back off of his forehead and temples.

He cracked open one weighted lid, peering up into the handsome face of his Consort. His gaze dropped to the full, swollen lips, his body heating again at the sight, all too aware how they got that way. His eyes flew up to Tony's. And they stared into each others souls.

Gibbs crooked an arm around Tony's neck. Pulling him down, tucking him in against his sated body. "I didn't do anything for you." He murmured apologetically through numbed lips, brushing a kiss across DiNozzo's cheek.

"Hmmm." Tony let out. Then he lifted his head a fraction then let it drop back. "Came all over the bedspread." He informed Gibbs, drowsily, proudly. "It's gonna take me a week to recover." He burrowed in closer, letting out a grand sigh. "Was wonderful."

"Wonderful." Gibbs agreed. "Sleep." He ordered. Tony mumbled something in agreement. And Gibbs felt a wave of satisfaction. This he could do. This he enjoyed.

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"Jethro, Tony." Evangeline called down the hall into Jethro's private suite, resisting the urge to enter the rooms. It would be a dream to see them together both so beautiful as they made love. Her heart was full, happy. She grinned at the idea. She could see her son's blush in her mind's eye. He would be spluttering, furious, shy, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around his waist... Completely out of character, but he was with Tony. Tony was different than all the others he had been with, in more ways than gender. Tony was exactly what her son needed and lovely besides. She laughed out loud thinking it.

On sighting her, Faramir was up on all fours his tail waggling so hard it was moving his whole, massive body. If the swinging appendage hit her, she was certain it would sweep her completely off of her feet. He trotted down the hall to meet her. She grasped his head and scratched behind his ears, planting a kiss on his furry nose. His intelligent eyes beamed up at her.

"You invited me to lunch. It is nearly three in the afternoon, surely you can drag yourselves out of bed for long enough to eat with me?" She called out again, her voice held an amused edge, as if her very tone was smiling. She loved to imagine them together, but right now she decided her son and his Consort would appreciate a little privacy. They were so in love. So happy. And discovering them in bed in the afternoon only added to her delight. They were honeymooning. It was so cute.

"I'll be waiting in the kitchen." She called out after hearing some kind of grunted reply from inside the rooms. She thought it was her son, it sounded more like him than it did Tony, but she wasn't totally sure. It might have been Tony, reduced to mush after her son's lovemaking. It could be....but she still thought it was Jethro.

"I'm not alone. Tacitus is with me. And there are some men waiting to speak with you. One of them is a General, my dears. They've been waiting a long time, I understand. No one wanted to disturb you. Nor could they get past the dog to do so." She informed them as she turned to go, grinning, Faramir at her side.

Tony sat up inside the room. "Tacitus?" He mused. He looked at Gibbs was had also sat up, scrubbing a hand over his short silvery locks.

"Other men? A General?" Gibbs looked as surprised as he, and then he frowned. A visit from a General wasn't what he wanted to have right now. He could hardly go to the table in his shorts and sandals, shirtless and lazily nuzzle his Consort between bites with a General at the table with them. 

Tony watched the thoughts move across Gibbs' face. So the invitation had not come from Gibbs, either. Perhaps Evangeline had brought Tacitus as a guest. As to the other men...he had no idea.

They shared a look. So. Everyone knew they were in bed together. Gibbs felt his face flame. Tacitus he didn't mind. But strangers? Tony smiled at him. And suddenly Gibbs didn't give a fuck. He wanted to parade nude into the dining room. Let everyone know he and Tony, he and his Consort were an item. That they had been making love in the daylight. 

"Better shower," Tony said, not attempting to hide the huge grin that stretched across his face. Gibbs stared at him, quite aware his own face wore a similar expression. He crawled across the intervening space, ending up straddling Tony's hips, his hands on the other man's shoulders, pushing him flat.

He kissed him. Lingering over the mouth that was puffy and tender under his own lips. Tony tilted his head back, opened his mouth and surrendered all control of the kiss to Gibbs. Gibbs growled in this throat. He finally sat back, his cock once again showing some pointed interest. 

Tony giggled. Reaching out to stroke the hardening member. His eyes twinkled.

"Yeah. I'd like nothing more, sweetheart. But we have company. And I do not want my mother to come in here and see me like this. She can get past the dog." Gibbs reminded Tony before he got up, stretched, wanting nothing more than to return to the bed and nap a while longer. He stole a look at Tony. Or not sleep. Have sex, cuddle, then sleep. He sighed. But there were guests and whoever the men were to deal with first. He trailed after Tony's twitching ass.

He eyed the fleshy mounds with a newly appreciative eye. Tony had a spectacular ass. A bit squarer than any woman's, full and yet slim, with lush curves. Masculine, yes, but not harsh or hard looking, very smooth. And the dimples on his low back made Gibbs mouth water unexpectedly. He swallowed. Nice. Sexy. He turned that concept over in his mind. He thought a man had a sexy ass. Tony. His grin grew wider still.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Gibbs did know the men. They were the higher ups from NCIS and the Department of the Legions. And a few flunkies. His mother had opened the midsized dining room and invited them all to take refreshment. Honey cakes, pastries, cold chicken and beef, cheeses and sliced breads decorated the table top, slaves moving around the table between the guests adding to the many dishes. 

Gibbs frowned. He followed Tony over to his mother, laying a kiss on her cheek. He clasped Tacitus' forearm and shoulder, the larger man mirroring him. He also watched Tony lift his face and receive a kiss, a kiss Tacitus bestowed on him with a great deal of affection, his hands huge across Tony's back. Gibbs ignored the twinge of jealousy. Tony was not his wife. He was his Consort, his own man, Gibbs' right hand. He would make his own decisions. And Gibbs would back him all the way.

His eyes returned to the delegation of five men who rose to their feet when he and Tony entered the room. His mind immediately switching from pleasure mode to work mode. He knew these men and he had a sneaking suspicion why they were here. He greeted the one he knew best. 

"General Fulvius." They shook hands. The man, not much older than himself let his face show his happiness to be seeing Gibbs again. It had been quite a long while. More than three years since they'd last encountered each other. "This is my Consort Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs." He announced and the men all bowed in Tony's direction. Tony blushed, but spoke bravely in the face of all those brass and silver marks of rank.

"Please sit, enjoy the fruits of our table." He said, waving them back to their chairs, before following Gibbs to the two chairs set side by side at the head of the table. Tony poured iced lemon tea for both of them. Gibbs smiling his thanks.

"First Centurion. Consort. Congratulations on your joining." Fulvius responded warmly as they all resumed their seats. The other men around the table introduced themselves, but fell silent letting the General take over the conversation. "The Legions extend our very best wishes." The admiration in his voice, the look on his face as he gazed at Tony gave the truth to his words.

"Let us eat as we talk. There is nothing you need hold back here. My mother and San Tacitus are trusted ears." Gibbs told the General. He didn't mention Tony, because it would be an insult beyond comprehension for the men to question his Consort's right to hear any news that came to Gibbs, no matter how private or how secret. Tony was absolutely equal to Gibbs in so far as any business was concerned. Gibbs accepted that and joyed in it. The men around the table took their cue from the heir of the Gibbs Family.

Evangeline looked proud. Her eyes met Tony's and were warm, welcoming. He smiled at her in return. Then turned his attention to the conversation between his master and the visitors.

"It comes down to we would like to offer you the directorship of NCIS. There is no one who knows more about the department and it's day to day running." Flavius said.

"I'm a field agent." Gibbs stated. "I don't really want to come in and run an office. Or worse yet a department." And it was true. He didn't want that. He was in phenomenal shape, he was the best field agent NCIS had. But, he was also one of the oldest. And he had to admit to himself it was a young man's job.

"I understand. But it is time you did take a further step up in your career. We are prepared to elevate you to the rank of Centurion Maximus." The man beside Fulvius said. The Secretary of the Department of the Legions. Gibbs looked at the man in silence.

A hush fell around the table. It was one of the last things Gibbs had expected. To run an entire department, sure, he'd expected someone to make the overture to him once Jen had departed. But giving him the new rank, when First Centurion was already higher than most men could ever achieve...that was unexpected. He would be joining the ranks of less than a dozen men who held the same title around the Empire.

He looked over at Tony. Who was beaming at him, his eyes suspiciously moist. He reached out and grasped his Consort's hand. Gibbs taking on the rank of Centurion Maximus would elevate Tony to a similar station. Tony looked dazed. Gibbs squeezed his hand. He didn't mean to dump this on Tony, the timing was foul. He'd much prefer to retire and spend his time with his Consort, together learning to run the Family and traveling. But it was not to be. Not yet. They shared a long look. Tony's eyes were shining. Then Gibbs said the only thing he could say, as he held his Consort's hand. It was his duty, one he could not step away from. One didn't turn down the rank of Centurion Maximus.

"I accept." And the congratulations broke out around the table.

"Who do you have in mind to replace me as head of the field team?" Gibbs asked the men when the conversation had died down.

Their eyes immediately went to Tony, who felt a wave of dismay, his grip tightening on Gibbs' hand. Gibbs followed their gazes.

"He is a Consort, his rank is sufficient to lead the teams." The General defended the choice seeing the expression on both men's faces. Gibbs however shook his head, negating the argument without discussion. Tony's face made it clear how he felt about being separated. They would have almost no time together. Their lives changing radically. 

"No. His place is beside me. I won't have him going out into the field without me as back up." He said it firmly and felt Tony relax. "Mc Gee isn't ready yet, nor David. But there are agents we can bring in from other offices. Centurion Tambor Gallus is one who comes to mind." 

General Fulvius nodded, rubbing his chin as he chewed on a slice of the tenderest beef he'd had in ages. He agreed with that choice, Gallus was a good and more than competent man. "I know him, and I have heard good things from his superiors. Tell me what you know about him."

"He is ready to take a step up, but his own Agent in Charge in no where near retiring. We have been looking for a place to move him up. He is fast and accurate in his evaluations of a case. He keeps an open mind, but is decisive when it is needed. He makes no excuses. The members of his team have only the highest praise for him." Gibbs replied. He went on to list the man's strengths and few weaknesses. The only one being in Gibbs view that he wasn't yet comfortable with following his gut. 

The General leaned back. "Then, given what you've said, the choice and appointment is yours to make as the director of NCIS. I leave it in your hands and the hands of your Consort, Director Gibbs." He dusted his fingers off on his napkin. "I think it is time for us to take our leave. The office has been cleaned and prepared for you. I hope you will understand the urgency and agree to take residence on Monday? The department needs your guidance. The loss of director Sheppard in the manner in which it happened...leadership is sorely missed."

The men accompanying him rose, offering sincere thanks for the meal and thanking both Evangeline and Tony. Gibbs grinned at Tony's expression. He wasn't yet used to playing the role of hostess. But it would come, he thought as despite his surprise Tony rose to the occasion and graciously accepted the compliments on his table and hospitality. Gibbs didn't miss the admiring glances either. And he was perfectly happy to see the men leaving. He had a feeling Tony was only going to see an increase in interest from other men of the First Families.

Once the men had left, the last farewells said, they sat again. Tony ate hungrily next to Gibbs who matched him dish for dish. Making love was hungry work. Gibbs reached out and stroked a finger down Tony's cheek. Tony looked at him in mid-chew and blushed crimson at the look in his eye.

Tacitus laughed delightedly. Evangeline looking proud, content, stirring her tea, every inch the satisfied Matriarch.

"You two are so in love." Tacitus stated with profound satisfaction. "My congratulations to you both. And if it is the proper time, I would like to offer a proposal." He waited until Gibbs nodded. Evangeline's brows raising, her face gone curious.

Tacitus rose, discarding his napkin and moved around the large table. Stopping not in front of Gibbs but in front of Tony. He went to one knee and lifted his face to the Consort's surprised one. Tony's eyes were huge, hazel-blue, gleaming like dark jewels in his somewhat pale face, the lace of his lashes a perfect frame. Tacitus looked right up into those eyes as he spoke.

"I am Tacitus," He said formally, "..and I would make you and your Family an honorable offer...." 

Tony let out a squeak.


	18. Chapter 18

Tacitus dropped to one knee. His eyes locked on to Tony's as he swept the short cape of his uniform behind him. Gibbs made a sound and started to rise to his feet, wishing he had his sword with him. His hands were fisted at his side, but starting to lift higher, his body shifting into battle mode. San watched him out of the corner of his eye, but made no move to rise or to meet his challenge.

The Gibbs matriarch stared at her son, astonished at his breach of protocol. Evangeline's hand shot up in the air, stopping him before he was fully standing, before he could give further, more serious offense to the man kneeling. Her eyes were blue coals as they met his blazing ones. He sank back into the chair, taking Tony's hand in his and gripping it tightly, jaw set. He glared at Tacitus, who began to address Tony.

"I am DiSantis Tacitus, and I ask your leave to bind my Houses to yours with a formal acknowledgment of ties. I offer you a Binding between our Houses." Tacitus said, to Tony's open mouthed astonishment. He scooted closer to Gibbs, already feeling a curl of interest growing low in his belly. He wished he didn't feel it. But he did. He remembered every superb line of that nude body, the planes of muscle, the heated smile that had been his for a short while. And he also remembered the caresses and kisses that had near boiled his blood. And he recalled in vivid detail how Gibbs had looked wrestling with Tacitus. More than anything he fervently wished to see that again, to see the two of them together again. He dropped his gaze, biting his lip, worrying that all of it showed on his face.

"But...?" Tony stuttered, unable to find the words to state the objection he had. He wanted to ask Tacitus not to say it, not to make the offer he feared was coming. Not when he and Gibbs had only just come to a physical understanding. It was too fragile a bond to stress so soon. Puzzled and confused, and more than a little ashamed of his desire, Tony looked over at Gibbs, then at Evangeline. His face was anguished.

"What is happening? What does it mean?" He asked, trying to telegraph with his eyes his desire not to be put into this position. He needed Gibbs to understand he wasn't asking for this, that he didn't want it in his heart..even if his body ached for it. He turned to Tacitus. "What are you asking me?" What he meant was, 'please don't ask me. Not this. Not now.' 

Tacitus raised his brows at the intensity of pain in the Consort's gaze. He knew what Tony wanted. He knew it, but it was not something he could grant him. His offer would be voiced. It would be heard. He would not keep silent. It was a Family matter. He opened his mouth to state his offer.

"There is no law to say that the Consort of one House can not be Courted by another House." Evangeline answered thoughtfully, before Tacitus could reply to Tony's question. Her bright blue eyes fixed on the figure of the kneeling man, narrowed shrewdly. Wondering just what it was he was going to propose. And how he thought it was going to work with her son glaring at him so murderously.

Tony stared helplessly. He looked up at Gibbs. "What do I do?" He asked. Seeing the hardened jaw. The furious eyes. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. He held onto Gibbs' hand with both of his own. Tugging the man nearer. he did not want to be fought over. Not for real. He did not want either of the men injured trying to claim him. Tacitus had promised he would let Gibbs take the field, win Tony without further trials between Gibbs and himself. What had changed his mind? Did he truly believe Tony wouldn't choose Gibbs?

"You are Consort to my House." Gibbs said his voice hot and yet a little distant as if he was separating himself from the situation. His fingers held tight, until Tony felt the bones of his own hands begin to ache. Gibbs never noticed, not turning his forbidding gaze from the far calmer gaze of Tacitus. Tacitus watched him, listening without interrupting him.

"I am Slave Consort to your House..." Tony reminded him, praying Gibbs would take the decision out of his hands. If only Gibbs would tell Tacitus the matter had been honorably decided, that there was no chance to go back, that he wouldn't allow it, that it violated some unspoken rule, some code.... He was close to begging that Gibbs take him back to the suite, away from the temptation of Tacitus and the cool witness of Evangeline. "You are my master."

"It is one and the same, the position you hold. I do not speak for you. You speak for yourself now." Gibbs replied, not able to look away from the yellow eyes that held his. His throat was closing, he forced the words out, his tone harsh. If he had a knife at his belt, he'd have it at the other man's jugular by now. Tony was his. No one elses.

Tony turned to Evangeline. "I don't know what I am supposed to do." He told her, his panic clear on his face. She leaned forward.

"Tony. It is not a betrayal of this House for you to seek ties without. Just as Jethro sought to bring our Family ties with the DeGranados Family. So you may seek alliances outside." She told him, her voice kind and gentle. She turned the eyes so like her son's on him. Reminding her son of what was right and that he himself had done such a thing as this.

Tony looked at his master. Gibbs was sitting, looking over at him now, his face angry yet thoughtful, his eyes...agonized. His breathing had slowed, his color back to normal, perhaps even a little pale. But he was no longer vibrating with rage. Tony wasn't sure if that was good, or very very bad. He'd seen Gibbs go quiet before. And sometimes, Gibbs going quiet wasn't good at all.

"Am I allowed to confer, to ask for advice of my matriarch and her heir? Without giving insult to the Family of Tacitus?" He asked, plaintively. Anxiously.

"Yes, you are." Evangeline said firmly. "And I urge rationality in the discussion, not emotion. This is the Family you are dealing with, not a personal matter. We should all remember that it is not a personal matter." Her voice held a warning and Gibbs flinched to hear it. Tony felt the grip on his hand begin to loosen. But that was the last thing he wanted. He held on tighter. Gibbs would have to hurt him to get free of his hold. Gibbs looked at him, his lips pressed flat, hard.

Silently, a slave entered the room carrying a silver platter piled with small envelopes. Tony barely glanced towards them as they were set at his elbow. He wanted to run from the room dragging Gibbs with him. He wanted to melt into his master's arms. He didn't want to have to decide if he wanted to bed San Tacitus to form an alliance between their Houses. He already knew, that aside from Gibbs, there was no one he wanted more than the big man who was still on his knee in front of him, close enough to touch. No one who burned his blood and sap hotter. He ached with a rising desire. He swallowed around the fist sized lump in his throat.

"What does the House of Tacitus offer?" He finally choked out, dizzy with his too rapid breathing, with the pulse that thundered in his ears.

Tacitus looked directly into the handsome and tense face, hating that he'd put that look on it. He knew of course what Gibbs feared and because of Gibbs' fear what Tony feared. But he regretted Gibbs did not trust him better than that. They had been and still were friends. He spoke at last. 

"The House of Tacitus would be honored to offer the House of Gibbs a child." He said, instead of the offer that the two men had expected him to utter. 

Gibbs and Tony both gaped at him. Evangeline clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, wonderful!"

"Wha...who?" Tony stammered. "I..I...c..c...can't m..m..marry. I am a s..s..slave. Slaves don't marry." He almost managed to collect his wits by the end of the answer.

"Yes, but you are a Consort and thus you can acknowledge and legitimize any children you have, and they will be free Citizens from birth." Tacitus told him. "As to who would bear the child, if the gods grant, my cousin Julia Romanus has asked to be allowed to bear your child. She is married and pleased with her husband. She has her own children, five of them. But she has taken quite a shine to you."

"Julia Romanus." Gibbs mumbled, he had heard the name before, somewhere recently.

"But I've...we've never met," Tony protested.

"You actually have..." Tacitus began only to have Gibbs interrupt him before he could explain about the time at the theatre, in fact the first time Tacitus himself had met Tony when the young slave accompanied Gibbs.

"Julius Romanus. Juli. A man." Gibbs stated flatly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. A very attractive man. No more than thirty. And absurdly beautiful. Strong, well shaped mouth, offset by a sharp wit and white smile full of mischief, just like his cousin Tacitus. And big like him. Dark haired, satin blue eyes, pale skin, and a svelte frame that he glided around with the grace of a dancer.

"Julius Romanus. Also my cousin." Tacitus confirmed. "He works with you at NCIS. In fact he would like me to forward his request, with my backing, to be posted to your team. If you can get past his looks he is remarkably bright and physically competent. He's trained with the best. He deserves a chance. Julia is his twin sister."

Tony turned to look at Gibbs. Wracking his brains to put face to the name. Judging from the grimace on Gibbs face he had already come up with the man and found something to demur about.

"Why would she want to bear me a child?" Tony asked in confusion.

"For the honor of binding our Familes together through blood. Through a child." Tacitus said. "For the Family. She carries her children well and easily. She would grant you the task of raising the child." Tacitus answered, looking from Gibbs stunned expression to Tony's. Only Evangeline looked like she had her senses about her. And she was smiling.

"A child?" Tony said wonderingly. He looked at Gibbs. "A child." And he wanted it. He wanted to say yes. It tore at him, the need to accept. He couldn't say no.

Gibbs turned to Tacitus, putting an arm around his shivering Consort, pulling him in close and snug. "Sit. We have much to talk about. I apologize for assuming you offered...something else. I should not have done so."

"Oh, that." Tacitus waved a large, toffee-tanned hand. "That is always on offer." 

He settled into the chair after rising from his knees with no effort, no stiffness. "But when you take me up on it, it will be an invitation from both of you." He said softly. "I can wait."


	19. Chapter 19

Gibbs paced. He hadn't thought it would be so difficult to do this. After all he wasn't the one doing anything. He was just...waiting. But letting Tony be in there, in the room, in bed with Julia, that was one of the more difficult things he'd ever done. He tried to shut off his imagination, but that wasn't working very well. He kept seeing her with her creamy skin and Tony with his dark gold tan, moving together. When he'd taken the chain off Tony, his hand had been shaking. He almost couldn't release the catch. Tony hugging him had only made it worse. Gibbs had to admit it to himself he was jealous. Of a woman.

It didn't help that she looked so much like his ex-wife, the coloring virtually the same, so much like Gabriel's mother. He had stared at her. Feeling the rise of the attraction in his blood, and a remembrance of the hostility. And even so he wanted her. She was a beautiful woman. He still found women attractive. For all that he loved Tony to distraction, Jethro Gibbs still had an eye for the ladies.

He shook his head as he resumed pacing. The way he'd looked at Julia Romanus was not much different from the way Tony watched Tacitus. That flicker of interest, of lust plain in his eye. At least plain to Gibbs. How odd then, that the first time Tony slept with anyone else since their joining it would be with a woman. And that Gibbs wouldn't be jealous over the woman herself, but over the woman having Tony. 

Gibbs really had convinced himself that it would be a piece of cake for him to wait. To know Tony was making a child. But it wasn't. It burned him inside. As if he wanted to be the one Tony would have a child with, not anyone else. It was impossible of course. Not fair, but reality, he couldn't give Tony a child. That took a woman. And San Tacitus. With his gods be damned offer.

"Can't sit?" Tacitus' voice came from the door way. He stepped into the room, but not far. Gibbs showed him his teeth in a grimace that should have been a rueful smile, but wasn't. Tacitus predictably laughed. Looping an arm around the other man's shoulders.

"Then you may as well come with me. Have something to eat. And more importantly to drink." He swept Gibbs down the hall.

The food he really didn't pay much attention to, but the beer hit the spot. Cold and a little yeasty. And not being alone waiting for Tony, that was even better. Gibbs felt a little foolish for taking the day off just because Tony was having sex and trying to get a woman pregnant. Considering all the days he'd refused to call in sick when he was working in the field...it was funny he'd find this a legit reason to play hooky.

"My own." Tacitus said in a tone of affection, and for a moment Gibbs thought the other man was addressing him with an endearment. He shot a suspicious glance over, before it came to him, seeing Tacitus smacking his lips and swallowing another mouthful of the brew, that he was talking about the beer. Worse Tacitus caught him looking.

"Jethro." He chided. "I swear, you think everyone is after your hot little ass. Or Tony's. It just isn't so." He laughed again. And this time Gibbs joined him, laughing at himself, which felt unbelievably good.

"I'm not any good at being in love." Gibbs admitted. "And everyone does want Tony. You should see the piles of envelopes...invitations. And not just to dinners and parties. Invitations to bed some of them. Invitations to everything on earth."

Tacitus shrugged. "He is beautiful, that man. And he has charm. And joy of life. All of those call to people who want just those things. He doesn't have to accept any of them. They are more to test him out, to see if he'd be interested. There is no repercussion to his refusal. People are fascinated with the first living Slave Consort many of them have heard of. They want to meet him. See what slave has captured an heir of the First Families. A very heterosexual heir. They know he is something special."

Gibbs grumbled into his beer. "I'd rather they let him alone. They have sent him invitations at work." That more than anything else outraged him. Work was sacred. To be respected.

"It will die away soon, when he doesn't accept any of them." Tacitus dismissed the invitations with a wave of his hand. "I should know, I went through much the same thing before I joined the legion. I spread around my oats. Word got round and I had a thousand of those damn cards to deal with. That taught me more than any other thing to be choosy with my favors." He wasn't smiling, and Gibbs raised his brows. So the man was serious.

"You were stalked." Gibbs said. Tacitus nodded, confirming it.

"Yes. It was not pleasant. I was stalked by more than one admirer, terrifying for a kid. It was one reason I went into the legion so young." Tacitus swirled his glass. "It took a while for me to learn the mistake of taking anyone up on those kind of offers. Then I was scared out of my mind. Was almost kidnapped. Would have been if my uncle wasn't such a suspicious man. He had me followed, no matter how much I protested I could take care of myself. I was an idiot." He shook his head at the memory of himself as a youth, defiantly protesting the very protection that had saved him.

Gibbs eyed the big man, thinking back to the skinny youth he'd first met. "You weren't very impressive back then. Tall as a stalk of corn, but just as thin." He recalled with his own grin.

"I was also scared shitless. No thanks to you." Tacitus whined just a little bit. He sounded exactly like he had all those years ago. Gibbs threw back his head and laughed. Tacitus joined in.

"Yeah. It was obvious." He finally managed through all the cackles. "Despite your chin jutting and shoulder squaring and all the trying to intimidate everyone with your height. You must have had a field day in the legion." His meaning clear. Everyone wanting the tall, skinny, endearingly awkward young man with the amazing eyes. Other young men who were scared, all reaching out for some kind of comfort.

"No, not really. I meant it when I said it had scared me to find out what I'd gotten myself into with sleeping around. I was celibate for the first year. Before I trusted anyone enough to try anything. By then I was getting bigger, felt more like I might have a say in what happened between me and any man I chose."

Gibbs frowned at that. He didn't like the sound of it. Nor did he like the look that was in San's eye as he spoke. "The kidnapping. It wasn't the worst that happened." He stated it, making it a fact, not a question. And Tacitus, nodded his head. 

"No it wasn't the worst." He agreed. And his tone said it all. Gibbs didn't need any other information. But San provided just a bit more. "One of the women wasn't alone when I visited her. My first man." He looked away. 

"May the gods curse him for it." Gibbs said, in an uncharacteristic oath. One he meant with all his heart. He reached over to the bucket of ice and beer bottles that rested between their two chairs. He opened a new one for himself and for Tacitus, passing it over. They drank for a time in companionable silence. Gibbs wondered how Tacitus could have ever found the courage to try it with men again. How could he have found the trust, the strength to overcome his distrust and the fear that Gibbs had seen in his eyes back then?

"The legion has been good to me. The nobles I had been hanging out with, the rich who had nothing but time and money, no real purpose, only boredom and the money to try to alleviate it, I wasn't learning good things from them. It was my uncle who insisted I join the legion. I might never have discovered that there was such a thing as honor otherwise. The legion beat the hell out of me teaching me, but they, you included, also took care of me. I could trust you, and the other soldiers."

Gibbs nodded. His own father had been insistent that he not spend all of his life among the wealthy, often indolent youth growing up. There were many disagreements between his parents as he grew up, both being of strong will and personality, but his going into the legion was not one of them. His mother had been afraid for him, afraid he would have a life without purpose. She sent him along to the service with a glad heart, though she worried for him, she was equally proud of him for his choice.

Now he sat remembering things he hadn't thought of in a while. His first days in the barracks. Terrified because of the sounds of boys, young men, as green as he was, finding solace in each other's arms. He had tried it. Tried to find release, fling off the tension for a night. He'd gone into the legion a virgin. Though that didn't last long. He didn't manage much in the way of sex with any of his fellow recruits. His body had never been much interested. But he could close his eyes and climax with another hand on him if he didn't think too hard about it being a man's hand.

Women had always been easy to find on leave. Especially women who had an eye for a handsome very blue eyed youth with the bloom of vigor and newly discovered strength. The legion was good for him, his body thrived, his soul had found it's calling, and he glowed with it. Women flocked to him. And he quickly overcame what shyness he'd brought with him from home. His first sex might have been in a barracks bed, with his eyes closed at the hands of his then best friend, but he soon made up for it with his many encounters on leave. He discovered he loved sex with women.

Germanus, the once best friend, had withdrawn the sex, with grace surprising to find in such a young man, when he saw that Gibbs wasn't much interested in it, but not the friendship. They had stayed friends until Germanus died in battle. Gibbs had mourned him. Then moved on, and up. Never forming a friendship with the same degree of intensity until he met a skinny, defiant kid named DiSantis Tacitus, who very quickly became a Centurion, and not long after, Gibbs' closest friend.

They drank some more. Both content, not needing to talk. Gibbs felt the tension that had been riding him fade away. And it was with surprise he heard the voice from behind him.

"Hey, can I have one of those?" Gibbs turned, seeing Tony walk into the room, his hair damp, dressed and looking no different than after he'd dressed this morning his hair wet and curling at the nape of his neck. Gibbs forgot about all of what had happened from then to now, pushed it aside. Tony slid a chair over, bending down to look into the bucket of ice and beer. He examined it.

"Your own label?" He asked Tacitus. Then he leaned back, his hand finding Gibbs' and drank.


	20. Chapter 20

It never ceased to amaze Gibbs how he felt when Tony walked into his view. His Slave Consort may have been absent for most of a day, or only a few minutes, but when the younger man came back into Gibbs' company, he felt a rush of relief and contentment, a sensation that he was unfamiliar with. He certainly had not enjoyed much of that feeling during any of his three marriages.

He had always been taught how to control his emotional reactions to anything that happened, good, bad, unexpected...or planned for. The closest feeling he had experienced like the feeling he had for Tony was when he had come home from the front that first time to see his new son. Newborn Gabriel had made him catch his breath. Not because the crumpled, red face was beautiful...Gibbs couldn't call it anything but...crumpled and red. And damn loud as he recalled. His boy had a great set of lungs on him from the very first. But...seeing his son, it didn't matter at all what he looked like. He was Gibbs' ~son~, that was what mattered.

Gibbs had been overwhelmed by a wave of such protectiveness, of such love it had staggered him. The emotion far exceeded the sharp desire, the lust he'd had for Gabriel's very beautiful mother. From his point of view Gabriel's physical beauty hadn't struck him until the boy was three or four. Before that time he looked like any child might. The feelings he evoked in the stoic soldier made all the difference. Gibbs held the small child every chance he got. He still did, though now, occasionally, Gabriel squirmed free to run off on some mission of his own. That too was precious to him, that Gabriel felt safe to leave him, knowing he could come back, and Gibbs would be there, whenever his son was ready, whenever Gabriel needed him.

And so it was with Tony. He knew intellectually how handsome the slave was. But in Gibbs' life, looks had never meant much as far as men were concerned, competence could not be guaranteed by a lovely face or form. When he saw Tony, he had to catch his breath. When he touched him...he had to hold him. When Tony rested against him, warm and smelling of musk, heat, and the undefinable scent that was Tony to Gibbs' mind, Gibbs felt he was finally home. Finally happy. Content. And if Gabriel joined them in the morning, shrieking as he raced Faramir, who quite obviously let the boy win every race, into the private rooms he and Tony shared, then there was nothing missing in Gibbs' life. The moment was perfect.

Going back to work, Gabriel returning to school, and Tony coming along to the NCIS headquarters with his master was almost a let down. For the first time in his life, Gibbs had been happy away from work. He was stunned by the realization. And reassured. Looking forward to the day he would retire was no longer something he avoided or dreaded. It would not be a time of emptiness. It would be a time full of family, more than his mother if she should live that long. It would be filled with Tony, Gabriel, and Tony's soon to be born child.

A child that Tony awaited with the eagerness of the most dedicated father. He visited San's household often. Sat with Julia, conversed, wanting to know every detail of her advancing pregnancy. Little things began to appear in the Gibbs' compound. Blankets, hand stitched. Toys. Stuffed animals. An ancient polished wood crib, elaborate, yet beautiful for its craftsmanship and history as much as the cabachoned jewels that ran up it's sides. That crib was a gift from Evangeline. It had been in the family for more than one hundred years. Evangeline Gibbs had been laid in the crib when she was born and her son Jethro. And Gabriel, now it waited for Tony' son or daughter. 

Gibbs sighed as he looked over the day's roster. Julius, Julia's twin, and San's cousin, nephew...something..was a new addition to the team. Gibbs had accepted him only after a rigorous interview and evaluation. The man had passed with flying colors. Which wasn't all that surprising, Jethro was pretty sure San had a hand in his relatives training, he'd recognized some of the techniques the other man used. A certain turn of the wrist...a hold...

Julian was pretty enough to make a good undercover man for the right kinds of assignments. Gibbs was more than happy not to have to use Tony anymore.

He'd also added Paula Aswary to the team. She came straight from the military, having surrendered her commission only the month before her interview. A tall Aussie, with a crisp manner and a delightful accent, and a golden tan that simply caressed those slim, strong legs. Long, blonde hair that tended to fly-away and draw Gibbs' eye. She was competent, Gibbs reminded himself. 

And...he was off the market. He wasn't going to get involved with a subordinate, no matter how attractive he found her. He wouldn't shit where he slept. It came down to that. The only primate that did, was the Gorilla. And Gibbs had stopped being a Gorilla after looking down the barrel of Jen's pistol.

She had come into his home at his own invitation. He had ~brought~ her there. Introduced her to his child, to his mother, to his entire household. Presented her to the world at large as the future, fourth Mrs Jethro Gibbs. And she had tried to kill him, she had shot Tony. Gibbs shuddered. If circumstances had been different she might have hurt Gabriel, or Evangeline. Or Tony might have died. 

Gibbs was done with all of that. Tony was it for him. The last serious relationship he was going to have. If it came down to him not being able to put off his lust...then he'd have a casual encounter. Nothing formal. No more proposals. No more women.

It shouldn't be about sex any longer. It should be about family. He shook his head. And despite the fact he was nearing fifty, he was still fooling himself in that regard. He wanted women. Found them attractive. Sensual. Hot. It was the cost benefit ratio that he had to keep in mind. Tony couldn't leave him. That wasn't the problem. But hurting Tony wasn't what he wanted either. Putting his family at risk was out of the question. Most certainly putting them at risk for something as trivial as sex.

Tony was it. Gibbs tried to concentrate on the files he was reviewing. The files he was using to compose a readiness report. He almost missed the sound of the door opening and Tony coming silently into the room with coffee and another stack of prescreened files. Hard files, files not on the computer. Easier to read, to mark his place. Gibbs hated reading files on the computer.

Gibbs watched the handsome younger man come further into the room. Tony positively glowed. As if he were the one who was pregnant. Not Julia. Gibbs let his eyes drift down to the flat belly. He was glad that hadn't changed, and yet...how would he feel if Tony were pregnant? If the child were a combination of his genes and Tony's. How would that be? Seeing a little son or daughter, with his eyes and Tony's face, or vice versa...

"Lock the door." Jethro Gibbs said, after Tony set his super-sized coffee on the desk and began sorting through the files. Tony glanced up for an instant, before he stopped sorting, set the stack of folders aside and obeyed the instruction. He came back into the room, a puzzled look on his face. Gibbs gazed on his face, let his eyes travel down that tall, agile frame. Tony was more than aware of the scrutiny. He drew in an involuntary breath at the weight of it, of Gibbs' regard.

"Is something wrong, boss?" He asked as Gibbs advanced on him. His arms stayed down by his sides. Whatever Gibbs wanted...

"No. Nothing." Gibbs answered, not stopping until he was right in front of his Consort. Close enough to reach out and run his hand through that soft brown-blonde hair. Tony leaned into his touch. Surrendering to what Gibbs wanted from him. Not questioning him, not protesting that they couldn't...not while they were at work...Tony didn't say no. What Gibbs wanted...Gibbs got.

Gibbs pulled Tony in, lifting his chin, it was hard to get used to kissing someone taller, but he was getting used to it, more than used to it, he was learning to like it, look forward to it...and joined their mouths together. No one tasted like Tony.

Heat, wetness. Tony opened his mouth, took Gibbs' tongue inside, suckled it, his own warring, sliding, pressing. Gibbs drew him in, closer, their bodies meeting all along their fronts, Gibbs' hands forming to the contours of Tony's back, migrating up from his waist, back into his hair. His fingers folding into soft fists in the silky strands. Thick hair. He pushed his nose into the strands. Sniffed. Tony scent. He growled into the curve of ear and neck, that vulnerable spot that called to his tongue. He pressed it there, flat and wide, tasting.

He pulled back, noted the gasping, already swollen mouth, the deepening color of those beautiful eyes, the fine lines around the edges of them, all of it was Tony...and all of it was right. Gibbs knuckled the side of Tony's face. Handsome. More so than Gibbs had ever been. Hardly important. What was important, he was the best friend and companion Gibbs' ever had. That was what mattered. 

Gibbs' hand rose and planted itself in the middle of Tony's chest. Pushing. Until Tony's butt hit the edge of the polished wood, and further until he was on his back, on the vast conference table. Waiting as Gibbs moved up between the long, fabric encased legs, which wrapped around his hips, no hesitation, cradling Jethro's hips, snugging them close. Gibbs smiled. It felt like Tony was hugging him, without using his arms. Then he leaned down and Tony used his arms, too.

"You ready for this?" Gibbs asked, his breath feathering over the shell of the younger man's ear. His hips pressed, letting Tony feel how hard he was, how fast it had happened. It didn't happen that way usually. Not for them, but it was happening now. Usually Gibbs didn't get hard until Tony's hand, or his mouth was on him. Tony's eyes were huge, staring up at him, a question in their hazel-blue depths. Afraid to hope, to believe.

Gibbs couldn't describe fully what happened next. Tony...melted...against him. His whole body's posture changed, softened, eased, gave in. It was so fucking hot to see it, to feel it. It happened against his own body. And Gibbs' body knew what to do with that kind of surrender. His dick went diamond hard, aching, throbbing. His dick wanted ~in~.

He ripped at the fly of his pants, as Tony, far more adroitly undid his own pants. Tony couldn't push his pants down far, just off of his butt, freeing the satiny, smooth globes. Gibbs felt the curves against his bare thighs, his erection slotting itself home, between them, caught in the hot, dark crease.

"Tony," Gibbs growled.

"Yeah, boss?" The other man shivered as the base of Gibbs' cock slid over his opening.

"Tell me you have something." Because Gibbs did not want to do this dry. Not the first time.

"Yeah, boss." It was throaty, hoarse, the response. "Top side drawer in your desk."

Gibbs' brows rose.

Tony groaned at the expression. "I hoped we would need it. Eventually." He whispered. Gibbs pressed his dick in closer, the friction exquisite as he rubbed over the swollen spot behind DiNozzo's balls. That space, right there, had a ripeness, a fullness that was just damn sexy. He pushed his dick up against it again. Then pulled away.

"Top side drawer." He repeated, knowing if he didn't pull away and go get the lube now he wasn't going to. He was going to rub himself raw and shoot his load all over the outside of Tony's body. Not the inside. Where suddenly he wanted to be. "Why haven't I seen it?"

"Under the paper clips." Tony husked, tearing at his pants, trying to get them off without getting up off the table. "In the back." He shuddered head to foot as Gibbs went to the desk his hard cock, sticking out, leading the way.

It was there. Gibbs fished it out. Brand new. Stylish little bottle. Unopened. He opened it. Rubbed the fluid between his fingertips. Slick. He painted it over that sexy spot of Tony's perineum, gliding his fingers over it. Reveling in it. Then a few more drops, he rubbed them in. Drifted back, lower. Shit. Tony was hot down there. Temperature hot. As hot there as any woman, maybe hotter. He felt the involuntary twitch of the muscle as he slid over it, around it, learning it. A silken drawstring. Cinched tight.

More of the slippery liquid. Too much? Gibbs didn't care. He slipped a finger into that ruched, silk-lined hole. Smooth and easy. Except for the way Tony's head fell back, the shiver that ran over him upward, chest lifted, his nipples going hard, to tiny points visible through his shirt. Gooseflesh all over him. And the....aaahhhh! That escaped his throat.

Gibbs froze. His balls had risen in a jerk, snapping in high and tight as if they wanted back inside his body, his dick bobbing in front of him, reaching for Tony's flesh, a fresh gout of precome spitting out. Gibbs squeezed his knees together, fighting the urge to come, to lose it right then and there and shoot his load across the splayed ass. He looked down to where he had one finger buried. Less than one finger. One knuckle of one finger, and he was going to blow his cork.

One knuckle, then it was two. And Gibbs knew for sure. He'd had his fingers buried in women before, Tony was hotter. Tighter. Gibbs slid his finger in as far as it would go, they shuddered together. Tony trembling, Gibbs sweating, bending over him, mesmerized by the sight of his own finger going inside another man's body. He tugged it out, Tony's body giving it up only reluctantly, heralding another wave of goosebumps. Slick and gleaming, Gibbs saw, before pushing it back in. No resistance, Tony's body enfolded it. Gripped it, swallowed it. Fuck.

With his free hand, Gibbs pushed Tony's leg up higher, tilting his hips, so he could see more of that magic little ring. The deep rose color. Stretched around his finger. Gibbs nudged his second finger, dripping with the lubricant up to that tiny hole. It went in, too. Tight as hell, and then...there was nothing like that feeling. Melting. Tony's body melted around his invading fingers, going softly firm, letting him in, holding him. Embracing.

"Is it enough?" Gibbs hissed out between his teeth. Tony lifted a dazed face to look up at him. Stupid with sensation. Befuddled. He shivered again, head to foot. Then understood what he was being asked. He lifted a foot, hooking his ankle over Gibbs shoulder. Nodded.

"Enough. Plenty. Do me, boss. Get your dick in me." Tony was hardly articulate, biting his lips. Staring up at Gibbs, disbelief warring with lust and hope on his flushed face. Was it going to happen? It ~was~ going to happen.

Gibbs gripped the base of his dick hard. His hand a vise, trying to hold it in. He hadn't been like this since he was a kid. Fifteen and horny as hell. When sitting on a toilet seat was almost enough to make him blow his load. When he'd come just from smelling a hot, sweaty woman and hearing her groan as she turned over on her towel in the sauna. He'd squirted his load all down his leg, horrified someone would see it. He fought not to do the same thing now.

He put his cockhead at that relaxed opening. Nudged in. Felt the flesh open around him, caressing the tip of his cock, like a mouth, kissing flesh to flesh. Taking him in. The first inch, then he stopped, fighting his impulse to spear in deep on one stroke. He looked down. Saw the grip Tony's ass had on him, most of him still outside of that slick heat. Heard Tony's hitched breathing, his little whimpers....

And that was it. The visuals combined with those sounds...were the last straw. He started to come. Shoving himself in deeper, cumming all the way, grunting, falling face forward, his dick jerking, Tony shouting as he pushed in hard. His face landed next to one of Tony's tight little nipples and he bit/sucked at it. Tony's body spasmed around his jerking dick. He shouted some more, Gibbs gasping and sucking between grunts, his hands clawing at Tony's hips. Good Gibbs, good. Can't even get inside before you lose it.

He groaned. Panting. Licked the cloth covered nipple he held between his teeth, delicately. Careful not to bite down too hard. Tony's body kept spasming, the tight channel rippling, Gibbs' cock way too sensitive. "Tony. Tony. No. Tony." He held still, very, very still. Feeling Tony go limp under him after a final shudder. Sigh. A deep, full sigh, the puddle of his cum wet and slick between their bellies. Gibbs shut his eyes, rested his forehead on Tony's wet chest, pushing up the sweat soaked shirt. Drifted. OK for a disaster this wasn't so bad....it was the best-ten-second-disastrous fuck he'd ever had in his life.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

There was pounding at the door. Gradually Gibbs became aware of it, of what it signified, of the voice shouting through the wooden obstacle. He swore under his breath. His face was glued to Tony's chest with a layer of sweat, his and DiNozzo's.

"Director Gibbs. Are you alright sir? Director Gibbs?" High pitched, panicked. Female, young. Terrified. "I can't get him to answer..." Talking to someone else. 

Then a more familiar voice. McGee.

"Sir? Gibbs?" More pounding, harder, a man's fist. Gibbs swallowed trying to draw enough moisture into his mouth to form an answer. Tony stirred under him. A stuttering sigh. 

"Boss?" McGee's voice was rising. Not as fast as the young secretary's but it was rising.

"McGee, get away from my door." Gibbs managed a croaking, wheezing growl. Not loud enough to be heard, or else not convincing enough. Apparently. Because five seconds later the door crashed inwards, slamming into the wall hanging by one hinge. McGee burst inside his size-twelves planted, his gun drawn, Ziva with him, her gun up, and Bethany, Gibbs' twenty year old, wide-eyed, innocent secretary hanging back in the doorway, her clipboard held to her chest, her eyes like frightened saucers. Until they fixed on him. On Tony. Sprawled across the conference table. Gibbs' trousers around his ankles. Tony's pants in a heap on the floor, his boxers hanging off one foot, with a sock half off that foot. Both of them drenched in sweat, cum.....

Ziva smirked her trademark smirk, her dark eyes glittering with mischief, with nastier than usual glee. McGee gaping, utterly shocked, not able to comprehend what he was seeing. 

"Close the damned door." Gibbs ground out. "And find me a towel."

Ziva handed him a box of tissues. Her smirk was if anything larger as McGee slammed the door shut, stood in front of it as if he wanted desperately to run out. "Sorry, sir. Will these do?" Her voice was sweet as saccharine. as she pulled a single tissue out of the top.

Gibbs snatched the box out of her hand. Taking a handful he pulled out and shoved them between Tony's damp cheeks. "Agent David, get the fuck out of my office." His tone was almost conversational. 

"Sir." She was still smirking as she eased out of the door shutting it firmly before the gathering mob could get a look inside. McGee was looking anywhere but at him or Tony. Tony sat up with a groan and McGee stopped breathing. Gibbs mopped himself up, not caring if McGee was watching him or not.

"Where is the fire, Agent?"

"Huh? Sir?" McGee whipped his head around. Gibbs could see the whites of his eyes all around.

"Why did you break into my office, Agent? Where is the fire? What is the emergency?"

"Uh. Bethany. She heard someone screaming. Sir." McGee was crimson. He was going to bust a blood vessel any moment.

Tony snickered. Trying to smother the sound. Gibbs glared at him but his slave had his back to him, drawing up his pants over the fantastic ass Gibbs had just been buried up to his balls inside. That fabulous ass he was going to get another shot at first opportunity. To see if he could actually get all the way ~in~ before he came.

"False alarm, I'd say, McGee. Wouldn't you? Tell Bethany on your way out. Everything is fine. Get her a cup of coffee, or tea, something hot." McGee was stealing disbelieving little looks at him. And at Tony. "McGee...." Gibbs growled and the younger agent fled, scurrying out the broken door.

Tony giggled, vainly trying to get control. Then giving up, he guffawed. Gibbs stood watching him, hands on his hips, trying to glare and failing miserably, Finally he allowed the grin to spread over his face as he watched Tony, braced with both hands on the table, laughing crazily, tears running down his cheeks.


	21. Chapter 21

Gibbs toyed with the golden chain he held in his hand, rolling it from side to side absently, like a lucky charm or a strand of hand carved worry beads. His mind was a million miles off, and yet his thoughts were revolving around the scrap of precious metal. It slid over his roughened skin like water, flowing, slipping, cool/warm in his grasp. No sharp edges, it was wide and flat, and utterly smooth. He had the  
strangest urge to lift it to his face, run it over his mouth, his chin. Lay a few links against his tongue. Taste it.

San reached for another beer. His eyes had not missed the flashing gold that his friend toyed with. It was glowing, thick linked, a dark, rich, nearly orange gold. Beautiful workmanship. Not long enough to be a necklace, not even a choker. Maybe a bracelet or an anklet, he  
thought. He rolled the icy, yeasty drink around in his mouth, coating all his taste buds.

"What is that?" He asked after swallowing his mouthful of beer. Curiosity overcoming the laziness brought on by the heat shimmering up  
off of the stones, blurring the air, Tony's sandalled feet disappeared into the wavy mirage.

Condensation dripped down the sides of the short necked brown bottle. Tacitus held it to his cheek, feeling cool drops almost sizzle when  
they ran onto his skin. He could fight in the highest heat of summer. He could...but he didn't have to. Not today. Today he was sitting  
here, in the shade, and thanking the Gods that he was without the need for weapons, or armor, or strenuous activity of any kind.

They were seated under one of the courtyard's massive umbrellas, a huge bucket of ice-chilled beer at hand for them, a pitcher of iced  
tea laced with fruit juices waiting for Tony, watching Tony practicing his kata in the full sun. He was moving with slow, sinuous grace. Sweat gleamed on every visible square inch of the sun-browned flesh, drawing thin lines through the vallied cuts of his muscles, down his chest, his arms, his belly. Each drop beckoning for the point of a tongue to follow its path.

Arms flowing up and down in the air, circling, holding and releasing, his abs flexing with each measured breath. Loose shorts were soaked at the waistband, the cotton sticking to his thighs in a way impossible not to notice that the shorts were all he wore. It waslip-smacking-beautiful to watch. San grinned lazily.

Gibbs looked down into his hand. He let the fingers fall open. So Tacitus might see what he held as he turned back. The other man looked  
curiously. Then his brow furrowed. No not a bracelet after all. Something very different.

"That what I think it is?" San asked the silent man seated next to him. He knew before Gibbs answered. He felt far from the first prickles of blood pooling in his groin, not the first, perhaps, but the most urgent. The chain had to be the one Tony had worn. The one conspicuously absent the last few times San had seen the Slave Consort naked. Absent since, he would guess, the day Tony's child had been conceived.

Gibbs nodded. Still not saying anything, still watching his Consort as he neared the end of the kata. Sleek as a tawny panther. Tacitus licked the beer off of his own lips.

Christos! Just thinking about it, seeing how Gibbs' strong, tanned fingers played over the length. It was doing things to Tacitus, his own loose, gauzy trousers not loose enough any more. He swallowed more beer. Half the new bottle. Chugged it down. Diverting his attention.  
Or trying to. He reached over into the tub of beer, found a floating ice cube, put it in his mouth and sucked on it. Took a handful next and dropped them onto his bare chest, making sure a few found their way down to chill his ardor.

"Is everything all right?" San asked pointedly when he found his voice, keeping his voice low, not able to keep it from being hoarse. Both men watched the slave, unable to tear their eyes away. San cleared his throat, tried again. "I was under the impression the two of you were doing well." He fought to keep his voice even, calm. Not give away the fact he was now sitting in his chair with one of the fattest, fastest, hardest erections he'd ever had despite the ice-cubes he'd dumped in his lap.

"Yes. More than." Gibbs spoke at last. "We are doing very well." And his words rang with the truth of that. His eyes stayed on the taller, younger man who stepped into the last motions, his arms floating forward, oddly powerful, oddly gentle, and graceful to the final point. San felt his breath whispering into his lungs, indrawn and held. Then Tony lowered his arms, shaking them.

"Then can you tell me why you are holding that?" San whispered, keeping his voice low. "Tony loves you. He would never betray you."

Gibbs let the chain slip through his fingers, spilling into his other hand. The gold blinked brilliantly. Beyond it he could see Tony stop,  
finishing his final set, and reaching for a towel. Shirtless, mopping his face and bare chest he ambled towards the two seated men at a  
liesurely pace.

"I know he wouldn't betray me. That has never been the question. "Gibbs said in return. His eyes burned as he watched the handsome man  
approach. "But, is he happy?"

San Tacitus was floored. "Yes, he is." He said with utter conviction. "It is you who are restless. Why? I have known you for years, you have  
never been this deeply in love before. Hades, I'd wager you have never been in love at all before. Why are you having doubts?" He watched the towel move in swipes over the wet flesh. Soaking up the sweat, he sighed. Damn waste of salty, good sweat....

"Not doubts. But I can't give him all that he wants." Gibbs said. He was leaning back in his chair, visually, he appeared completely at ease. Handsome, strong, very male.

"No one gets all that they want, Jethro. Take me for example..." His half mocking delivery was cut off when his friend turned and looked him directly in the eye.

"I love him. More than anyone save my son." Gibbs announced. "I want him to have...more." His piercing blue eyes pinned the larger man. San froze. No. Gibbs didn't mean... He couldn't mean....

"He will soon have a child of his own blood. He has you, Evangeline, Gabriel. He is the Consort of your House. He has so much already. He  
is happy, content." San said when he could think of something to say, something that wasn't a grunt, or a moan. Or begging for what he  
feared Gibbs was offering.

"He still wants you." The statement could not be refuted. Sparks flew between the two men. But San had no doubt who Tony loved. would always love.

"Lust." Tacitus admitted. Gibbs nodded, admitting it. "Friendship. Not love. Not in the same way you have love. But a kind of love."

"It is not just him. It is you." Gibbs looked into the amber eyes. "I can't say I understand it. This male/male thing...but as a man, I understand lust. Wanting so hard your teeth ache. Wanting so hard your balls are tucked in high and tight and feel like they are never coming down. Like your dick is ready to break off. I understand ~how~ he wants. I can figure out ~what~ he wants."

"I am not sure I like this." San said into the brief silence. "Where are you headed with this?" He wanted it said out in plain words. No  
guessing. No misunderstandings.

"Funny thing about being in love." Gibbs said, instead of answering the question San asked. "You want those you love to have everything  
you can give them, everything they want."

"This...what you are thinking, my friend, is not...like gifting your wife jewels or a villa, or hell a slave..." San murmured. "It is very different. Don't fuck this up. Don't. Not you and him. Not me."Because if Jethro thought San could lay with the slave, with Tony, the Consort of House Gibbs, and forget it with the next morning's sunrise...he was dead wrong.

"You don't want him?" Gibbs asked mildly. As if only vaguely interested in the reply. But there was a dangerous light in his eye. Tacitus recognized it. And chose to speak the whole truth.

"You know how much I want him. What I was and still am willing to give for him. To him. If he were mine." Tacitus all but growled back. "I  
gave him the token of my House. I set it around his neck and I would have honored it fully. I would have made him my own Consort. I have  
given him a child out of my own House's blood. My sword would draw blood for him. My body shield him. Don't play with me, Centurion. You know what he is to me."

Gibbs ran the chain through his fingers. San didn't fight the urge to glare the man, at the chain, at what it was, knowing where it had once  
been. What would he be willing to give to cup Tony in his palm...exactly where that chain had lain against his flesh? Tony would be beautiful wearing it. Laying on his back, legs teasingly spread...gold glinting in the lamp light. Or...on hands and knees, looking over a shoulder, smiling a small smile, gold peeking out from between his thighs...promising heaven. Tacitus swallowed the rest of his beer, snagged a desperate third.

"Giving him what he wants. That is what this is about." Gibbs replied at last, quietly as Tony finished toweling off and came towards the  
older men. He leaned down and kissed Gibbs on the lips. Gentle, drawing it out like sipping a cool drink after the sun. The touch brought a sigh to the back of his throat. His lips clung, held, softened, then he pulled back, his eyes limpid, his smile radiant. He straightened, blinked and grinned with true delight.

"San! What brings you here?" He asked as Gibbs reached over, pouring out a large glass of the lemony tea, putting it into his slave's hand.  
Tony drank most of it down at once, gratefully. Then he poured the rest over his chest, down his body. Yelping. Shaking himself off. Gibbs filled the glass again. Tony bent down. Offering his lover the towel he held, laughing. And Gibbs tilted the jug down his back.

"Gibbs called me." Tacitus said, watching the thirsty swallows. The rivulets of tea making it's way down hot skin. As Tony yelped again, the wash of cold liquid inundating his back. His shorts were soaked completely through. The secret crevice of his ass visible, a shadow  
through drenched fabric. Tacitus was so hard now he didn't dare stand up. "How are you Tony?" Voice softening.

"Fine. More than." Dripping, laughing, he sat on the arm of Gibbs' chair, looking happier than Tacitus ever remembered him. "We've missed  
you though. It has been months."

"Yes, two months." Tacitus chanced looking up into those bright eyes. It was electric, the shock of animal attraction. Even tempered by  
affection it was a fierce thing, burning like a fire between them. The want agonizing because it could not be slaked. "Almost three, getting  
away from the legion is not an easy thing."

"I'm glad you are here." Tony said, his hand resting on Gibbs' shoulder. Gibbs' shirt was dotted with pale brown spots of tea as they fell from Tony. He was happy, Tacitus decided. Despite the longing, the lust between he and I, he is happy with Jethro. Jethro is what he needs.

"And I...welcome the company." San said, neutrally, aware of Gibbs' eyes on him. Evaluating. Assessing. Deciding. Ever the tactician.

"Julia will be delivering soon. She is due next week." Tony offered excitedly.

Gibbs stood, holding out his hand. "Tony." He said, and his voice was different. Deeper, smoother, more intense. Tony's gaze flew up to his master's face. His mouth open a fraction, his breath coming faster.

"Master," he responded, recognizing the voice, the tone. Responding instinctively. His knees quivered with the urge to kneel. But that wasn't what Gibbs wanted. Tony took the outstretched hand. He dropped his retrieved towel on the chaise. San watched as his gaze lowered, his body went quiet, it's posture one of anticipation, of waiting. As if he listened with every cell for his master's bidding.

"Come with me." Gibbs said. Tony nodded, not speaking, his whole being focused on the other man, in a way that Tacitus could only marvel at, green flames of envy licking his heart. Jethro was a lucky man.

Gibbs lifted his gaze, met San's. The hard gaze. The commander's eyes. Tacitus hadn't see that look directed at himself in years. "And you." Gibbs, ordered. He turned and led the way into the house. "You come with me, too."


	22. Chapter 22

Gibbs stopped when they reached his suite of private rooms. Tony, continuing to hold his hand, stopped with him, pulled up snug against the body of his master. Gibbs put his arms around the younger man. Gibbs felt the heat radiate over him from Tony's exercise and sun warmed flesh. He very gently pulled back, patted Tony's bare, tea sticky chest. He kissed his Consort's lips. Their mouths clinging. Then he pulled back enough to talk in a roughened voice. Tony shivered against him.

"Tony, shower." Gibbs said, then indicated a chair to San Tacitus, as Tony went to the stall to wash. "Sit. We have a little to talk about, I think."

San sat, his eyes intent. To say he was surprised with what Gibbs had brought up on the patio as they sat and watched Tony work out was an understatement. He was well aware of the other man's possessive side when it came to those he considered his and loved. And arguably Tony was the one person he loved more than anyone. More than his wives, only Gabriel was in that same class. Yet...he was offering Tacitus a chance to lay with him? It didn't make sense. Or, not enough sense for San to be comfortable taking him up on the offer.

Did he want Tony? San asked himself. Hell yes! But his instincts were on high alert. He needed more information before he could say yes to his long time friend. Having Tony...it wasn't worth destroying his friendship with Gibbs, with Tony, or what was between the two men. Not for one night's, or one day's lust. 

San suspected, OK he knew, he loved the Gibb's Family Consort. Tony had come very close to being his own Families Consort. With all that would have entailed. There were strong emotions involved. Lust. Desire. Affection, and love. It couldn't be denied. 

Gibbs leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I am trusting you with something dearer to me than my own life." He told the man sitting in front of him. "I don't like doing it. But the alternative is...." He shook his head. And the expression on his features was determined, yet grim. Not what Tacitus had expected. 

Tacitus frowned. This whole thing was not exactly what he'd expected. What was going on? Even if Gibbs had decided that Tony needed a lover, one who loved men and could give him something Gibbs thought he couldn't...it should not be done in such... He shook his head. Something else was a-foot here. 

Gibbs reached over and touched a tightly wound scroll on his desk. He fiddled with it, then chose the one next to it to give to San. The scroll was not thick, a thin band was tied around it's middle. San accepted it.

"Read it." Gibbs ordered. San obeyed his friend. Hearing the urgency that was there, buried in the serious tone. Here was his first clue.

Tacitus unrolled the scroll, placing metal weights at the corners to hold it open and flat enough to read. A legal document, that was clear right away, on first perusal. A claim granted against the House of Gibbs. He scanned the text. Then he read more slowly. Not so many words, but devastating ones. And entirely impossible to credit. He felt his anger begin to build. 

He sat up straighter, staring at the other man. His nostrils flared. He was not angry at Gibbs, but rather for his friend, and for Tony. "This cannot be." He said through clenched jaw, his teeth close to grinding against each other. He wanted to spit on the offending document.

"They are, apparently not without influence. And I believe they have come close to impoverishing themselves to pay out bribes in this matter. This is the result." Gibbs waved a hand at the scroll San held, forearm flexing as if he'd like to crush it. His voice was cold, not happy. Things like this...favors bought...questionable justice purchased...he hated it. It went against all he fought for. And to have it used against his own Family....an extra insult.

"They seek your Slave Consort as compensation for their daughter's loss, her illness? How can they argue that he is to blame?" Tacitus was appalled. "This is not justice!" The illness that had grown inside of Jen Sheppard, festering, until it finally exploded into the assault on Gibbs...that had begun long before, it had little to do, honestly, with Gibbs' relationship with his slave. Yet her Family had won this judgement from the Court?

"No. We agree on that point. And I will fight them through the Courts. I will win, someday. It may take a long while. Until I have that victory and this judgement turned around....Tony is not safe as things stand." His jaw was locked, lips peeling back for his teeth. San grinned viciously. He almost felt sorry for those who stood in this man's way. Almost...but after what they had done....making Tony their pawn...

He was right, Tacitus knew. If Gibbs should die, Tony, with this little piece of legislation held in his hand, became the property of Jen Sheppard's family. Theirs to hold, to sell. In payment for the loss of their daughter to the Family. To compensate for her illness. "They are mad to do this. Do they not know you will oppose them?"

"Emotion is running high. They feel justified. Seeking revenge. My mother has spoken to their head Steward. The man is not unsympathetic, but it is the Family who decides. And there is no swaying those idiots." He shrugged. "So, I will do what I must to keep him safe." Gibbs took the second scroll in his hands. He held it for a beat of less than ten seconds, but his reluctance to pass it on was made clear. San took it with a respectful silence, giving it the reverence due. There was no doubt in him what it was.

Tacitus unrolled it. Read it. Read it a second time. All the way through to the end. He was not surprised by the contents. He let it re-roll. Drew in a deep breath. Yes. "This is why you asked me what he meant to me. To ascertain if I still held him of such value to myself and my Houses." San's voice was soft. 

"Yes. Do you?" Gibbs' gaze burned into his friend's. San nodded once, short and sharp.

"I do. The full influence of my Houses are behind you, behind Tony." Answered with absolute conviction, seriousness. No doubt of his sincerity.

"Then you agree?" Gibbs wanted it said simply and aloud.

"I do. To keep him safe, I would do more than this." San Tacitus declared. 

"You have my undying thanks." Gibbs said, his eyes hot with the emotions he was barely keeping inside. 

"Does he know? Has he read these?" San asked. The sound of the shower was distant. He imagined Tony's hands sluicing soap over his beautiful body. Rinsing clean. Suds swirling down the center drain. Gleaming like a new bronze statue.

"No, he does not know yet.. The ruling of the Imperial Court was delivered to me last evening. Tony was occupied at the time. I read it and secured it in my safe. This other...I had it drawn up this morning, after I called you." Gibbs grimaced. "There was no option as good."

"I will not let you down, Jethro. But, Tony should read these. Both of them." San said after a moment's thought. "I would not have him go into this blind."

"Yes. He will. Do you have your seal with you?" Gibbs asked, practical matters taking precedence. "I wish this done as soon as possible, before they have any chance to suspect."

Tacitus drew it out of his waist pouch. Then he drew out a second. "He will be the Consort of both my Houses." The two men shared a feral grin, all teeth and triumph over a bloodied and defeated enemy. Then they sobered. Tacitus spoke first into that silence.

"Jethro. I can not do this casually. Once it is done, I will not be able to give him up again. Not if you solve this legal farce in one week, or in ten years. I can not return him to you, letting him abandon my Houses." Tacitus spoke the truth. Tony would be taken fully into his position of honor. The position would not be one of convenience. But true.

"I am not so lacking in honor, my friend, that I would ask it of you. It is his safety that must come first. I must know he is beyond their reach if I should die. If my mother and I should both be incapacitated. Gabriel is too young to fight this fight for all that he loves Tony and would try." Gibbs said.

"All the resources of my Houses and my Families will be behind him. He will be safe." Tacitus promised. "None shall go through me to get to him."

The shower turned off in the distance. Gibbs stood up. "Then let us do this." San Tacitus stood as well. Gibbs removed his tea potted shirt, standing in only his shorts and sandals. He stepped up to the big Centurion in front of him, tilting his head up, raising his arms to set his hands on the larger man's shoulders. 

"Do ya have to be so damn tall, San?" He grumbled, affectionately. San grinned at him.

"Can't help being big and beautiful, Jethro, I guess you are just going to have to get used to it." He bent his head down and kissed the shorter man.

The clang of a fluid filled metal pitcher hitting the floor spun both men around. Naked, Tony was staring at them, wide-eyed with disbelief, mouth gaping. The pitcher that had slipped out of his hands was rolling across the stones, sloshing its liquid contents all over the floor.


	23. Chapter 23

For the second time in less than an hour, Tony felt his knees wanting to bend, wanting to sink down to the floor, to plant hands and forehead to the floor and not have to look up. As a rule, he didn't kneel to his master often, but there were times...times when it seemed the right thing, the only thing to do. This time was not one of those. This time...he was afraid, bone chillingly afraid. He wanted to go to his knees and bow his head and not think. There was something wrong.

As Gibbs turned and met his eyes, hazel locking with blue, Tony wondered if he was going to stop breathing. He wondered...what this was about...Gibbs in Tacitus' arms? Whatever he had expected when coming into the room with a new pitcher of tea...that vision was not it. He had no hope of holding onto the tea, his fingers were numb. It fell. Spilled. Splashed up his bare ankles and shins. Spread in a small wave across the stones, ice cubes skittering.

In fact it was just about the last position he ever thought he'd find Gibbs in. Gibbs, his master, standing in the circle of San Tacitus' embracing arms, kissing him, with a level of comfort, of familiarity that scared him for all of it's odd chasteness. 

His concept of Gibbs shifted abruptly, gone one-eighty. This could not have been the first time for them to kiss this way. Even seeing there was not the great lust, the attraction he felt when he looked on the golden skinned man, even seeing there wasn't need involved, or great desire, Tony was afraid. San Tacitus could offer Gibbs so much, and Tony....Tony was just a slave. Who could deny the primal power of the man, the beauty?

"Tony." Gibbs stepped back from the taller Tacitus and held out his hand. Tony's eyes lifted, huge and dilated pupils like dark holes in his paling face. Tony felt a tremor speed through is limbs. His breath hitching into his lungs, refusing to enter smoothly. Refusing to be silent, a harsh rasp.

"Tony, come here." The voice was firm, warm, affectionate, loving. Gibbs' eyes were still the direct blue of the man he had fallen in love with. Open. His master. No stranger's gaze. Tony ran to him, splashing through the tea and ice, not caring, not noticing.

Gibbs grunted as the younger man slammed into him, surrounding him with iron hard arms, so strong, squeezing tightly, burying his face into the bend where neck and shoulder met. He smelled so clean, so fresh, so warm, naked..... Gibbs sighed, his hands lifting, holding, running down the shower cooled skin. Tony, not as hot to the touch as he'd been after his martial dance in the sun. Sleek. His Tony. Damp curls at the base of his neck. Fingers petted. Touched.

At the impact, Gibbs thumped backwards into San, who staggered but managed, with Gibbs' help, to keep the three of them upright. Tony let out one sad, inquiring mewl, he tried to suppress it, to squelch it. But he could not. It was a question, a plea. Don't leave me. Don't turn me away. Don't. Please.....no words, but said nevertheless, said, and heard. 

Gibbs stroked his hair. Murmured, just sounds, just comfort.

Tony was keening, then, the touch, gentle and loving, seeming to release what inhibition made him try for silence, to keep the fullness of his fear private. Now his anxiety shone through, a low, anxious whine rising in his throat, Gibbs had never heard it from this man before. Gibbs stroked a hand over his hair, again, twisted his head to place a kiss at Tony's temple.

"No, baby. No. Don't." Gibbs held the slave tightly. Tony's knees didn't seem to be able to support his weight. He was sagging, and San changed his position, worked around the other men, then reached out, and scooped Tony up in his arms. Gibbs half coming along for the ride, because Tony wouldn't let go of him.

Tony's eyes were wild in the instant before he shut them. He let his hands fall away from Gibbs. His body relaxed, inch by inch, as if he was giving himself up. Surrendering. Not resisting. Facing his master's will. He lay utterly still in the hold of the large First Centurion. San made an exasperated noise and carried him over to the bed.

"Get your butt over here, LJ. You had better explain. I can't do this like this. And yet it must be done." The two Centurions looked at each other, determination in both sets of eyes. In the set of both squared chins. He stepped away, giving Gibbs space to sit and touch his Slave Consort. Gibbs leaned down, hovering over the immobile figure that was barely breathing. Fine tremors wracking his body as he lay on his back, like a beaten dog.

"Tony. Open your eyes and look at me. Trust me, Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs." It was the name that prompted Tony's eyes to open, to gaze up into the man's. Gibbs bending down, frowning lightly, hands on Tony's upper arms. Was he angry? Tony couldn't tell. Disappointed in his slave? Tony choked on a sob. Not really a sob. But almost. Near enough.

Tony sucked in a huge shuddering breath. Then his eyes moved from his master's face to that of the big man behind Gibbs. Tacitus who was watching him with sympathy, and understanding. No heat in the look. No fire works. As if Tony's reaction had quenched the fire that always burned between them. 

"Listen to me." Gibbs said, and Tony's head snapped around, his eyes back on his master. "San go get the court scroll." Tacitus did, in long easy strides and was back in seconds. Gibbs took it from his hand. Unrolled it. Held it over Tony's face.

"I want you to read this. Concentrate. This will help you understand." Gibbs ordered, and Tony's hands went up to help hold the roll of the document flat. "then we can talk."

Tony tried to read it. Then he tried again. A few words made it through to his whirling brain. The third time he thought he might get the gist of it. Yet it made so little sense. The fourth read through had him sitting up. His expression was a mixture of outrage and confusion.

"How?" He asked. Looking from Gibbs to San to Gibbs. Tacitus actually felt the ghost of a smile cross his own face. This was the Tony he longed for. Full of energy, smart, and incredibly hot. Damn. Beautiful. The small smile grew into a broad one, one full of pride. His soon to be Slave Consort. His heart thumped, the tingle trying to come back, but too soon. He kept it down, forced it away.

"This is not legal justice!" Tony exclaimed, brows furrowed, lips pursing. "This House can not be blamed for her illness! She was nuts! They can not demand compensation..."

"Yet, here it says they can." San put his two-cents in. Tony looked up at him. The heat flickered. A tiny, fragile flame, that grew rapidly, but without a frantic pace. Strong. Enduring. It was back, and it reassured Tony somehow that it was back. He stared longer at the tall man. Until Gibbs spoke again.

"They have purchased this ruling." Gibbs said, his hand going to his slave's shoulder. "The ruling will not survive scrutiny, but I will not risk you. Until I can have it voided, you must be safe. You are my heart, Tony."

Tony stared, a flush of joy rising to his cheeks. "Oh." He managed articulately. Tentatively he leaned forward, offering his mouth, lips parted, eyes glowing.

Gibbs kissed him. Sweet, clinging, a sharing, taking, wanting, loving. Joining. Tony sighed when they'd pulled back, his face aglow. His eyes wanted to stay closed, to remember the feeling of the kiss forever. But...he opened dreamy eyes. He smiled, could not have stopped it from blooming across his face...until he recalled what they were talking about.

The Sheppards claiming him as recompense for damages done to their House and family, to their daughter by the House of Gibbs. Tony could not imagine why their Mother House had not stopped this. It was an embarrassment. Not to mention also, it was dangerous to take on the Gibbs House and the awesome political power, the nearly unimaginable clout of a rare and respected Centurion Maximus. Where on earth were the cooler heads that should have prevailed? Was the entire House bitten by madness? He growled angrily.

Tacitus held out the second scroll without being asked. Gibbs took it, and from his hand it went to Tony's.

Tony read it, wondering what further shock waited. He read it. And gulped. Read it again. Again. 

"No." He whispered. "No, master, please. I don't want...." He swallowed. He tried to speak, but his throat closed and he could not squeeze out a whole sentence. But it was important, it was crucial, it was his reason for going on, for living. Gibbs...he couldn't leave him. Couldn't go away. Be sent away...He couldn't...he tried again....voice sounding pained, squeezed as he got sounds out. "Boss...I don't want....I can't....to leave you....please...."

Gibbs shook his head, eyes going glacial. "I will have you safe from them. They are crazy, Tony. I wouldn't trust them with the well-being of a damn wharf rat. I am not risking them getting their hands on you."

"But..." Tony begged. He heard it in his tone, had no pride to stop it. This was too important for pride. This was...Gibbs. His life was with Gibbs.

"I don't think you understand." Tacitus said, voice low, even, trying to be the voice of reason, of calm. He pushed the abandoned scroll at the younger man, one corner was already bent, crushed when Tony had dropped it, sat on it. "Read it again, Tony."

"I don't need to. I can't..." He turned back to Gibbs' worried face. "I would rather die than leave you." He extended his wrists towards the other man. "Please, if you are sending me away, I would rather die. Bleed me. Put me down, master. I beg of you."

"Tony." Tacitus snapped. "Read the goddamned scroll." He spoke into the charged, anguished silence when it became clear that Gibbs was too shocked by the request to say anything in response. He never remembered seeing his friend immobilized like this before. Too shaken to respond in any coherent way, a look of utter devastation on his face.

Neither man on the bed reacted, gazing into each other's eyes, tears rolling down Tony's face, and blurring Jethro's eyes, so Tacitus continued. He crouched down next to them. A hand going to either head, cupping them both, Gibb's short, salt and pepper hair bristly in one palm, DiNozzo's softer against the other. Tacitus shook Tony's head gently, gripping that soft, golden brown hair, wanting to shake some sense into him. Knock some sense in if it must be done. He explained with slow emphasis.

"You are a Slave Consort. You can enter into agreements outside of this House. Jethro is not giving you up. You remain his Slave Consort. But in addition you become mine as well. It gives you two more layers of protection. If anything manages to happen to him, to Evangeline, ~and~ to me...then it is meant to be and in the hands of the Gods, and nothing man nor beast can do will change it. But I don't think that is likely. You will be safe as our Consort, Consort to all three Houses. That is what he wants, what I want. He isn't giving you up at all. He is ensuring that no one else will ever have a prayer at having you without his will."

"Truth?" Tony begged. Long, thick, tear spiked lashes framing eyes that pleaded for it to be true. He ran trembling fingers over Gibbs face, his cheeks, his chin, his mouth, his whole face. Gibbs lost control of the tears filling his own brimming eyes at last...and they coursed down his face, falling off his chin, unnoticed, unashamed.

Gibbs nodded, mouth twisted, thinned. "Truth. I am not sending you away. I won't send you away, ever. How could you ask me..." His hard hands closed around Tony's wrists, covering the vulnerable vessels there. Feeling, celebrating the pulse of life he felt against his own skin. "How could you ask me...." 

Tony's face shattered on hearing the depth of pain he was the cause of.

"Gods! Gibbs! I...." Tony threw his arms around his master, pressing them together. "I...Oh, Gods.....I am so sorry...."


	24. Chapter 24

They had enjoyed a large meal, a dinner/luncheon on tables set out in the yard where the first breezes would come. With plenty of crisp flavored beer, nothing fancy, just good and yeasty, with a substantial foam head that they laughed at, watching each other lap it off upper lips across the wooden table. Tacitus surprisingly was the first to push back from the table with a groan, a huge hand resting on his belly.

"Don't know how your cook does it, it isn't as if I don't eat well at home, or while serving the Empire. But," he patted his full stomach, "there is just something about her food..." He belched, a little belch, and blushed when Tony laughed at it. Gibbs crossed his legs at the ankle leaning back in his chair, fondly cradling his glass of beer.

The giant trees sheltered them from the remaining heat of the early evening. The meal had restored much of their good humor. Tony was almost giddy with his relief after discovering Gibbs had no intention of leaving him, or of sending him away. Without needing to speak of it, the three of them had decided to eat, and to drink to allow the mood to stabilize. 

It wasn't just Tony who had been traumatized. Gibbs was shocked and upset that after all of this, after having fought for Tony, having changed his life for him, after making him Slave Consort...that Tony could still think Gibbs would send him away. And that Tony would ask him to die. But, Tacitus had whispered in his ear..."you would send him away to keep him safe..." And suddenly Gibbs saw things from Tony's point of view. How his Slave Consort might see it.

So, food and beer had been the right choice to make, not a rush into bed. An officer of the Court was called to witness the papers making Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs-Tacitus the Slave Consort of three houses. The goggle eyed man had been speechless at that. Slave Consorts were rare enough, and this one, he cast a wary eye at the tall beauty sitting between the two Centurions, was to serve three Houses. Unheard of! But legal. Absolutely legal.

Dinner slowly progressed, with Cook bringing dish after dish, sensitive to the undercurrents that washed around the three men. She liked her master, Tony, and Tacitus. She puttered in and out of her kitchen and filled plates, recommended savory pasties, small sweet fruit pies, and her favorite drafts to go with each selection. She poured foamy glasses. She beamed her approval as they ate, for once, a huge meal. Usually Gibbs was circumspect in his habits, eating food that was nutritious as well as delicious. But not much of an experimenter. Today, he let Cook have full rein and she took advantage of it. 

Now the large woman withdrew, the meal over. Now, relaxed and well fed it was the time to talk. Out here, where there were no beds to distract them, or tempt them. Tacitus sighed, a gusty, contented sound and rolled his head towards his companions.

"Uh, uh." Gibbs said after swallowing his mouthful of golden liquid. A faint trace of foam remained on his upper lip. "We are a package deal. You want Tony, you get me into the bargain." Tony was watching him, eyes wide.

Tacitus looked at him, mildly surprised. This he hadn't expected. Gibbs offering his own body. Because that was what he meant, San was sure of it. This wasn't just Gibbs insisting on being next to the younger man when San finally slept with him, made love to him. That is what it would be...making love. The way San felt about Tony...it could be nothing less.

"A package deal." He murmured. He found Gibbs attractive. He did. But... "This is not business, Jethro. I hope you understand that. I am not just sealing a bargain between us." He wasn't sure Gibbs understood. And if there was confusion, it was so important that it be cleared up. That there be no false pretenses.

Gibbs looked suddenly angry. "A Slave Consort...taking one into a House is never just business, San. I know that. What I am saying is, Tony and me, we are not available separately."

Tacitus nodded, slowly. That was different. As long as Gibbs understood that none of this was as simple as an arrangement to keep Tony safe. "And I am not saying that this is taking Tony into my House as consort. I told you before, and I want you to understand, I love him, too. If we have that much settled between us, if you acknowledge it, and Tony does...then I have no worries. The rest will work itself out."

Gibbs shot him the famous glare. Tacitus met his gaze with equal intensity. He knew when he was being measured and evaluated. He'd faced such looks all his life in the legions. Looks asking if he was good enough, strong enough, smart enough, experienced enough, trustworthy enough. He knew himself well enough to have no doubts as to his wants and needs. He'd thought about Tony long enough to feel he could meet Tony's needs, as well. Tony who loved Gibbs to distraction, to the point of offering up his life if forced to leave. San could have some of Tony, a small part of his love and affection, his body, his lust, but Leroy Jethro Gibbs would always come first.

"Fine." Tacitus looked up and over at Tony who was now standing in front of the great sliding doors that opened onto the private patio outside of Gibbs' and his room. As if sensing he was being watched, he turned his head and looked right into Tacitus' eyes.

It was a physical blow. As if he was punched in his chest. As if he'd been kicked, hard. The hazel eyes fixed on his. Serene, calm. And with a smoldering heat that sucked the breath out of him. Tacitus put a hand to his broad chest. Shit. His heart rate accelerated just from that look. 

"Fine." Tacitus repeated, his voice lower the second time, choked with desire he was powerless to hide. Choked with the craving, the need to reach out, and take the younger man in his arms. He croaked out... "Then I've the perfect solution for you. For Tony. Tie your House to mine. Permanently."

Gibbs could have been a statue carved out of some sort of hard, warm stone. Granite, marble...he stood unmoving, unblinking. Then he drew in a breath. His eyes narrowed the way they had when he was on the battlefield when his men knew nothing would fool him, nothing get past him, only truth, only the best.

"You mean...?" Gibbs said, with slow deliberation, giving his friend time to think of what he was saying, to make it clear. No false assumptions between them. Amusingly he didn't feel insulted. As a younger man, hell a few months ago he would have taken offense. Now...

"Yes." Tacitus answered. Firm, decided. Adamant. No question as to his intent and his sincerity. Maybe there was a little surprise mixed in, surprise that Gibbs wasn't more offended, more amused, more dismissive. Surprise Gibbs was actually willing to consider it.

"The Emperor would have to approve...." Gibbs trailed off looking at Tacitus speculatively. Splitting off from a Mother line of Houses to create a new Mother House required Empire sanction. It wasn't lightly done. Not on a whim. It would tie them together, their lands, their people, their businesses, and the three of them, more intimately than sharing a consort, and that was nothing to scoff at.

Tacitus grinned a slow, almost evil smile as he looked into the shrewd blue eyes of his long time friend. "The House of Gibbs cannot be sued for damages if it no longer exists as a separate entity." He said softly, almost sweetly, with a gleam in his eye that Gibbs found he'd always liked from the first week they'd met, so damn long ago.

"A true binding, that is what you are suggesting?" Gibbs clarified, not losing his grin. Tony was looking puzzled, his eyes traveling from face to face. Trying not to be left behind. He pushed away from the house and began to walk towards the other men.

"Why not? Three Houses, more than enough power and money between us, Centurion Maximus, to make a new line." San's grin showed many strong, sharp, blazing white teeth. Gibbs pursed his lips, trying not to smile, not to burst into laughter at the sheer audacity of what Tacitus was proposing. He schooled his face back to seriousness. This wasn't really funny. No game.

"Zeus, San, you are the very height of gall." Gibbs murmured. Then his face broke again, back into it's own grin, a bigger grin than Tacitus had seen from him in a long time. "I like it. You want to publish the bans or shall I?"

Tacitus shook a finger at the other, broadly grinning man. "Uh uh, I am no man's wife. I'll list the bans." He waited to see if that would be the clincher, if Gibbs would back away from that. From the implications of his position.

"Very well." Gibbs felt a thrill of gleeful triumph wash over him. This was even better. This was unbreakable. This was forever. "I've been a husband plenty of times...guess it is my turn to be the wife."

Tacitus threw back his head and howled. Tears streaming down his face. Tony halted in mid stride, shocked at the vast, belling sound. Shocked to see Gibbs bent over in glee, tears running down his face, but not in pain, not hurt, laughing....

Tony hurried over to them. He'd been far enough away as they talked to miss the tail end of the conversation. His face was concerned. Tentatively he reached out and put a hand on his master's shoulder. Gibbs was grinning like an idiot, mopping at his dripping eyes. His beer had spilled onto the ground, soaking into the dried leaves and mulches. Tony eased the empty glass out of his hand.

"Gibbs?" Tony was a little alarmed at the out of control laughter. He nestled close, wanting the reassurance of body to body contact.

"Congratulations are in order." Gibbs told him, pulling him down into his lap. "Won't you congratulate us?" He pulled Tony's head down and kissed him. A long, heated kiss. Tony felt the fire ignite low in his belly. OK, whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad.....

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"Oh!"

Tim McGee lifted his head alertly, swiveling it towards the upper floor. The exclamation was repeated, a bit louder this time. He recognized the voice. It was Gibbs' very young secretary.

Ziva's head popped around the divider when the third "OH!" was heard. They looked at each other with questions in their eyes. Ziva lifted one dark, elegant brow.

The next sound was a squeal, and both of them were on their feet and heading up the stairs amid many other curious faces that were poking up over the edges of the cubicles on the lower floors, like a field full of prairie dogs. 

Director Gibbs was in today. If not, McGee was sure every one of those quiveringly curious agents would be on their way up to the secretary's desk to find out what the excitement was all about. But fear of encountering their boss outweighed even rabid curiosity.

Another squeal broke Tim's will to stay at his desk working, Ziva snapped in the same instant. McGee jogged up the stairs behind Ziva. Hot, view, yes, decidedly hot...but. He averted his eyes. Best not get involved with Abby's girlfriend like that. McGee was pretty sure he could handle Ziva, barely, and with both guns out, but Abby? He shuddered internally. No, Abby was best left alone. No wise man confronted Abby. Unless you received an engraved invitation. And that same thing went for anything or anyone Abby marked as her own. Decision arrived at, McGee focused his eyes on a far safer target. 

The delicate features of the young secretary, eyes huge, hand to mouth. Uttering oh, oh, oh....over and over. Ziva reached her first, bending over, putting a hand on the girl's trembling shoulder. McGee refusing to let his attention be drawn where it wasn't safe.

On the over-sized computer screen was a photograph of three men. One was Gibbs, another was Tony, both dressed to the nines and looking mighty fine. The third man was even more...more. McGee stumbled over an adequate descriptor. He was just...more. Wow. He'd never been one for the guys, but this man...wow.

Then he read the headline. Matriarch Evangeline Gibbs announces the marriage of her son to....Tim McGee's brain short circuited. He tried to read the next words. Tried again. They would not compute, not sink in. Impossible.

Gibbs? Tim imagined he could smell the connections in his brain frying.

Impossible.


	25. Chapter 25

Tacitus leaned back and away from his computer terminal, stretching out his long legs. He made no effort what so ever to hide his feral grin. The Sheppards were toast. Their very public rantings over the Emperor's decision to allow the new House to form was exactly the wrong tone to take with young, mostly untried Emperor Maximilian. 

Still uncertain of his position and very sensitive to what he saw as disrespect directed at himself or his position as Emperor, Max had levied a hefty fine on the Family for fraudulent Court proceedings and bribes. Then he had appointed an Empire Auditor to follow their businesses and House dealings for the foreseeable future. A devastating blow. 

The Sheppard's Mother House was also fined. They were appalled, livid now, far more than they had been before they saw the amount of cash the fine would demand of them. A short period of inattention to the subordinate house of madmen and madwomen, and they were out a third of their relative wealth. And they had been very publicly humiliated. The equivalent of an irresponsible child with privileges taken away for misbehavior, no allowance and a good spanking, too.

San grinned, well aware the grin was truthfully more of a baring of his teeth than a smile. Gotcha, he gloated. He was not a vindictive man, but he knew not to handle an enemy, such as the Sheppards had made themselves, with kid gloves. An enemy should be dealt with decisively, permanently. Firmly. And that had been done. Which drew his thoughts away to the far more satisfying conclusion his personal life had come to.

He was married to his original wife still. A pleasant woman. He was content with her. They were friends, neither was passionately in love with the other, she had her life and he had his. He could not have chosen a better mother for his children. In addition, he now had a second "wife" in Jethro Gibbs, legally recognized, and a third in the form of his Slave Consort. Tony. 

He wanted to laugh at the many visions that came to mind of the faces of people they had known, he and Jethro, picturing Jethro as a "wife" to anyone. The state affairs and dinners they'd attended had been amusing. The events better attended than any in decades, everyone wanting to see the newly wed pair. And the Slave Consort who served the joined Houses. Their actions had probably come close to setting off a few heart attacks and strokes among the older men of their acquaintance. Gibbs just wasn't the kind of man who one thought of as a wife. 

Then again.... San considered that more slowly. Gibbs was solidly comfortable with who he was, what he was, and what he wanted. Opinions that disagreed with his view of his masculinity, of his place in the world were ignored. So in one sense, Gibbs was the kind of man who wouldn't be bothered in the least by coming out and declaring himself a wife to House Antoniius, the House San Tacitus and Jethro Gibbs had created. Gibbs could just give a damn what others thought. It was a quality San loved in the older man. Confidence, surety, reliability. And an arrogance that made his mouth water when he witnessed it.

And then there was Tony. The choice of the name was another snub to the brash action of the Sheppards. House Antoniius kept Tony safe. Would always do so, and with the joining of the Tacitus businesses with the Gibbs ones, the new house was more influential than either had been before. A House headed by two Centurions, one a Centurion Maximus, there were no doors closed to them.

And the Slave Consort, a rare wonder. Anthony DiNozzo Gibbs-Tacitus.

Tony who he loved. Truly. Completely. Tacitus had not known what love felt like. Not love that was soft and gentle, yet lit him with a fire that woke his body to heights of desire like none before. He'd assumed he had, but all of his previous experience paled when confronted with his feelings for this man. He was well acquainted with lust, desire, affection and fatherly love. He did love his children. But that was a very different kind of love. That love was a warm and fiercely protective love, but it had none of the heat of passion or desire, the drive to possess that this love had. 

He loved Gibbs, the man was his best friend, San cherished that honest friendship. He also lusted after him. But...and it always came down to but...what he felt for Tony was far, far different. Every cell of his body wanted to join with Tony's. Gibbs, well, Gibbs was hot, true, and San wanted him, but he didn't burn for him.

Their first night, San had to draw in a sharp breath at the memory, reaching down to cup his growing erection. Their first night he had been like a callow youth. Fumbling, unskilled, more nervous than he'd been as a teen. He had touched the warm, golden, glowing skin, looked into those wonderful blue/green/hazel eyes. He'd shivered so hard he couldn't hold on to the wide shoulders, narrow hips, sun dappled skin with a few, scattered freckles. His teeth rattled against Tony's as he attempted a kiss. A little harder and they'd both have chipped teeth.

Hours, it had taken blissful hours to join their bodies, he had needed to touch all of the body that was now his to touch. At last, with Gibbs helping, it had been done. And in that moment Tacitus imagined nothing else had ever or would ever feel like this. Like coming home, like finding home, like being wrapped in Tony's arms, sunk into his body, deep, hard, frantic, ravenously needy. Barely able to breathe even laying still. Long, hot sweet moments of being surrounded by his beloved's flesh.

He laughed at himself, not a cruel or self deprecating laughter, but a sound of happiness, of joy. He had what he sought. The key to his heart had been given out. A key he had imagined to hold in his own hand, un-bestowed for all of his life, his heart to well guarded, his life ruled by duty, not love. Yet, at last, he'd given it.

He'd seen his love spread out before him. He'd seen the strong thighs spread, felt them encircling his hips, felt the heat, the fine tremble, seen the light, uncertain, but oh so hot in the hazel eyes as they lit on his own far darker ones. He'd touched all of it, all of him, lips meeting, sticking, tongues slipping, tangling. He'd held the fragile orbs of Tony's sex in his hand, rolling them gently, knowing any child now that came from them, and he would see that there were many, would have his name, too. 

He'd slid against and over and into oiled flesh. He'd fought the blinding impulse to lose his seed at first contact, he'd fought because he wanted to please his new lover, he ached to hear Tony's moan, to catch the scream of climax in his own mouth as he moved over the lithe body under his. Pleasured him with hard thrusts, over and over until that scream was his, a cherished cry swallowed with his own bellow of release.

From one night to the next day, his life had changed. He blessed all the gods for it. Sacrificed and lit incense on his knees before the altar of Mars, pressing his head to the stones as he prayed his thanks.

A high, joyous, furious shout startled him out of his reverie. He turned to look just before Gabriel and Faramir came barreling around a corner. The huge dog had the remains of something in his massive jaws. No doubt something very delicious and edible, knowing the dog's excellent tastes. Gabriel was shrieking in outraged delight, his face flushed, laughing and affronted at once. He slid to a stop in front of Tacitus, panting, pure, jewel blue eyes glittering and sparking.

"Gabriel." San said, knowing he was smiling at Gibbs' son and heir, now his own son by marriage.

"He has my bacon sandwich!" Gabriel exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the wildly ruffled animal. The dog looked supremely innocent even with the evidence hanging from his mouth. "I just turned around for a minute to find my marbles....and he had it!"

Faramir had settled down on his haunches, and was munching contentedly, while keeping a sharp eye on the boy. Ready to leap up an flee at a moment's notice.

"Well, surely you don't want to get it back now?" San asked, eying the soggy mess that was fast disappearing down the hound's gullet. "He takes good care of you, doesn't he? What is the cost of a sandwich for his loyalty?" 

Gabriel seemed to think for a moment, then he nodded, his face suddenly so like Gibbs' San could see the man he would grow into. "Yes. That is so."

"So," Tacitus pushed back his chair, got to his feet. "I am hungry as well, let's get Cook to make you and me another sandwich and check Faramir's bowl. Perhaps he needed an extra treat today." 

San ruffled the dark hair, his fingers gliding over the precious head. Gabriel hugged him, leaning against him familiarly, gazing up with affection and acquiescence, already accepting San as family, as another father. San took his small hand. Then they sped off towards the kitchens, Gabriel tugging the far larger form of his newest father behind him, shadowed closely by the huge dog. 

San smiled. And let himself be dragged along.

Finis


End file.
